What No One Knew
by westendwordsmith
Summary: Sarah and Jareth reunite in a dark tale of deceit and betrayal where only uncovering the truth can set them free of the chains they wear. Rated for mostly later chapters. JS
1. Disclaimer and Prologue

**DISCLAIMER**

All characters contained herein which were formerly introduced in either the novel, _Labyrinth_, written by A.C. H. Smith or the movie of the same name as created by Jim Henson and produced by George Lucas remain the sole property of the aforementioned. All newly developed characters, as well as the plot line, remain the sole property of the writer and may not be used without her permission, in any way, in any other work of fiction. Much appreciation is given to the aforementioned for allowing the idea of their characters to be "borrowed" and embellished.

No offense is intended to any nationality, religion, sex, creed, race or sexual preference.

While it is not necessary to be as addicted to the _Labyrinth_ as the writer has been, a general knowledge of either the book or the movie would be extremely helpful to those reading this novel.

The following is a complete work of fan fiction written as a tribute to what has been one of my favorite films since my formative preteen years. No profit is being made from this endeavor nor is any copyright infringement intended.

Fantasy/Danger/Romance rated adult for language, sensuality, adult topics and subject matter including mild slash content.

**PROLOGUE**

Bitter as a child left unselected whilst forming teams, the snowy white barn owl perched outside the window, his dirty blonde back feathers turned to the moon as he watched everyone who'd rejected him play on, ignorant to his stare. It was one thing to be bested at your own game, but it was quite another to be excluded, the only one of her new company not included in the litany of those she needed. Insolent child! Foolish mortal girl! Spreading wide, his wings, driven by his fury, cut violently into the night air, every slice bleeding ebony on the edges of his feathers. Home, what was left of it, was beckoning him. In the Underground, Jareth was king; there he could not be excluded from the smallest of things, for he was master of all. Being chosen meant nothing to he who held the sole power to choose. Yes, the throne constantly welcomed him.

"It is not a word," she shouted with all the indignance of youth. Still only fifteen, Sarah Williams's outburst proved how little she retained from her journey to other realms.

"Is so," Hoggle argued her.

Already thumbing through the word book, triumphant tones rang out as she pointed and confirmed, "There's no such word as arak."

"Is so a word," he continued. "What do you think I'm too dumb to know a word you don't?"

Emphatically she begged of him, "Pray tell kind sir, what might be the definition of this rare word?"

"I wouldn't tell you on penalty of the bog," the dwarf huffed stubbornly.

Didymus weakened in Sarah's presence as always he did, "'Tis a rum like cordial milady, made from malted rice and molasses, popular among the less affluent in our world."

Humbled, Sarah shuffled her tiles mumbling something about the fairness of using words which are not familiar to residents of both worlds. Fairness being the ambiguous craft it so often is, for in being fair to one you are undoubtedly unfair to another, thus it is an almost always unattainable whole. This concept made them no less interested in their weekly collaborations to extend all their vocabularies. Quite the contrary. Didymus made talk of doubling their engagements, but Sarah stuck firm to offering her hospitality no more frequently than when her parents took their leave of the house.

While typically jovial occasions, there came an evening upon the spring of Sarah's eighteenth year when their party ended on a very serious note. The young woman announced when none but those with whom she'd grown the closest remained, "I'm going away. Going away to school where, with any luck, I shall remain indefinitely."

"Are you not happy here at home?" Didymus asked.

Sarah forced a smile. To say that she was not happy was a gross understatement. Karen's hospitality only continued to decline as Sarah stood by her notions of fantasy. At first it seemed she'd tucked them away, but in truth she had only grown wise to how carefully such things must be hidden from those who could not be troubled to believe in anything not laminated by fact. It was true she had greatly reduced the quantity of items which she held dear, the junk lady had taught her that, but the purge of substance ended at her soul. Inside, Sarah took more to her flights of fancy than ever before. At school, she took to the arts only to be scorned at home for not taking valuable courses which would better her. After school she volunteered at the children's center reading and playing games, thinking her parents might be proud when she declared her intentions to study teaching at the university.

"I'll not hear of it," Karen went on as if it were her place to object to this sort of thing.

Alas Robert Williams was no longer capable of thinking for himself and readily agreed. Gradually over the years he'd come to complacently agree with his new wife, offering no more condolence to his first born child's consternation than to rely heavily upon the phrase, "I'm sure she has your best interests at heart." So it would seem Sarah had heard those dreadful words no fewer than three times daily since Karen first talked of taking her to a psychiatrist for the ailment she suffered in sustaining a world of make believe.

A silent member in all this debate was Linda Williams, Sarah's absentee mother who did her level best to communicate her agreements and disagreements by post whenever Sarah requested, but even her level best was considered, by comparison, to be far poorer than any child should expect from their parent. She'd saved Sarah the indignance of being sent to a psychiatrist at least, claiming to question her daughter's sanity over a trifling misconception about one's overactive imagination was tyrannical at best and she must object most vehemently. Linda had even gone so far to as to threaten her husband and his new wife by adding "to neglect my opposition, would give me no other choice but to break my numerous upcoming engagements with the theater's management and more personally object with the understanding, of course, Robert and Karen, you will be subject to a law suit for the losses I suffer by breaking my contract." God forbid she should take an active hand in raising her teenage daughter. Still that time the threat seemed enough to get Sarah what she wanted.

When it came to higher education, Linda's contributions were of little good to Sarah, in fact, they worked against her. "Sarah, darling," she said. "What would you have me do? I could offer you my loft to share, but there is so little space as it is. Surely I could use my connections to get you into an acting school, but, my sweet, I've not the funds to pay tuition and any job you might get would scarcely cover the extra food and utilities we'd need to house you. I have always taken your side, Sarah, but be wise here. Take the money your father is offering you and get the education they are prescribing, if for nothing else than as your ticket out. This may be your only chance to escape her." Her. Not the woman who had given Sarah life, but the woman who seemed happy only when she was controlling it. As Linda so often managed, she made Sarah's leaving the house as melodramatic as her own plight seemed, fleeing Robert to pursue the route destiny had chosen for her.

With no warm goodbye, Linda disconnected their call. Sarah stared into the receiver. "Take what you can from whoever offers it with no consideration for how you're misleading them, without any regret at not having been true to yourself." It had been a theme for her mother. Weeping into her open hands, fate was now Karen's to decide and it seemed as if she were determined to keep her stepdaughter as far removed from fantasy as possible.

If she were to be completely honest with herself, Sarah had done little to aid her argument by constantly reinforcing the story of the Labyrinth on Toby. At three, he could scarcely be expected to keep to himself when Sarah allowed him to see her Scrabble partners, but she thought his being with her a more responsible choice than pinning up the toddler for several hours while she played. Good judgment perhaps, but Karen was significantly displeased by her son's spouting about great beasts and sarcastic dwarves.

"I'm going to the University of Chicago's School of Law," she told her friends when she was able to break free of the reverie which brought them to this point.

"School of Law," Hoggle grumped, "sounds pretty stuck up to me."

"It is," she kidded. "Unfortunately, they're paying the tuition and Karen has pulled some strings with a few of the right people to get me in. I've little to say about it."

"No...more...Scrabble," Ludo growled from the corner.

Sarah flung herself into his warm, furry embrace. "I'm afraid not. Karen's insisted that I move into a furnished apartment and means to have all my _childhood_ things, as she calls them, destroyed."

Didymus came close to hold her hand, "And you assume without the mirror to bridge the gap between our worlds you shall never see us again?"

"Well I won't, will I?" Her tears had already begun to mat the beast's fur.

Hoggle came to join them. "Of course you will Sarah. It's not the mirror what matters. It's that you need us."

"'Tis true fair maiden. We could as easily enter through a closet or from beneath a bed. 'Twas just when you called us, you were already gazing into your mirror, we assumed, why frighten you?"

"Really?" Sarah was suddenly filled with relief at the prospect of having her old friends to make a new city seem like a less scary place to be. She felt Ludo's big head gently nod above her own. "Because I do need you all you know, now more than ever."

Why he bothered to fly in through the window of his throne room that first night after he'd watched them carry on without him, Jareth hadn't a clue. The whole place was one big window now. Sarah Williams had brought his world, quite literally, crumbling down around him. The king stood before his throne, all sorts of bits of stone, earth and crystal lie in his seat. His majesty's gloved hand reached down to sweep it free of the debris before flinging himself into the throne, draped over it with all the easiness he had while the mortal girl was busily attempting to solve the Labyrinth. His crop switched against the sole of his knee high black leather boot. "So," Jareth said through his bared uneven teeth, "this is how you mean it to be then? I have given you everything, been more generous with you than I have been with any other mortal to wish away children in the past. How am I repaid? Spat at, ruined, and all at the hands of a child!" The crop snapped just then, but the king continued to switch it regardless of what he felt, or didn't feel as it were. "I underestimated you and for that I fault myself, but more than this, I was too kind, too obliging, and that is a mistake I surely won't make a second time."

Tossing the broken crop into the pile of refuse all around him, Jareth called on his goblins. The first and second of his cries were issued without response, but as his hand crashed down upon the arm of his throne, it was his howl of pain which brought the meager assistants teeming in by the dozens, lining up to serve their master. "We will rebuild this castle," he said in a deep commanding voice. "We will rebuild the Goblin City," he continued each authoritative statement met with cheers by those within the sound of his voice. "And when we have done this much, we will upgrade the Labyrinth from difficult to deadly." Here Jareth fisted his hand, streams of hot, scarlet blood poured from the wound in his palm. It would seem he'd slammed his hand down on to some rather large crystal shards earlier. Ignorant of the pain he'd felt during the initial puncture, Jareth now slid the shards out from between his crevassed flesh, flicking them aside as one would an annoying pest. Curling into a sneer, the right side of his mouth began to ripple as he very nearly laughed. Like a wounded animal, the king slipped his tongue between his lips and bathed his injury. Blood stained his mouth and chin making his orders seem more like a pact.

While Jareth spouted commands at his servants Sarah took orders from her professors. Many of them set out to humble her, even humiliate her, but part of being an attorney was holding an air of confidence and quite often such attributes needed to be built into an otherwise mediocre character. Old school professors loved to spend the freshmen year tearing down mild mannered, shy students and then force them to become eloquent public speakers and master debaters.

Returning to her humble apartment filled Sarah with relief. There she could surround herself with familiar things including the few items she'd managed to smuggle to Chicago with her, the most important of which was the red leather bound copy of the _Labyrinth_.

Sarah called on her friends many nights her first year at university. Never did they speak of the king, for he had made it abundantly clear that if ever they were to discuss his world with her, their visitation privileges would be revoked; however, he did not abide by his own rules. Placating a fiery or lower goblin enough to have them share information was not a difficult task.

As her second and third years came and went, Sarah called less frequently upon her friends. Little surprise really. Karen's plan had gone precisely according to her vision. She had succeeded in forcing Sarah to give away her fantasy and accept the maturity imposed on her by attending a prestigious law school. All without Sarah's knowledge. It was not in the young woman's nature to fail and so she worked hard at her classes, made the best impressions, worked for the school legal journal, participated in extracurricular activities, including debate where she met a political science major by the name of Timothy McKnight.

Karen couldn't have crafted a more perfect distraction from fantasy lands if she'd practiced voodoo. Timothy was tall, his head filled with tight sandy curls and his eyes alive. Sarah was immediately taken to him and he became equally smitten with her. They began to date during opening term her junior year. Something about him made her want to be more mature, more sophisticated. Maybe she thought it was what he wanted, that he couldn't be interested in her otherwise. Maybe on a subconscious level, she'd decided to beat Karen at her own game by not only become what she wanted, but succeeding, nay excelling at it, bettering herself to the point she surpassed her step mother as a socialite.

Naturally, upon the eve of Sarah's twenty-first birthday the group of girls with whom she had chosen to associate, among them Laney Cass being her closest companion, wanted to take Sarah on the traditional pub crawl. Consisting of no fewer than a dozen establishments, including a joint which featured a wet t-shirt contest, two strip clubs and a dance hall which offered free body shots to the birthday girl (That is to say free shots off the birthday girl's body). This gauntlet had been run by each of the girls upon their respective turnings. Since many had attended junior university or switched to law, their birthdays had come and gone. All but Laney's. She was somewhat of a savant when it came to academics, graduating at fifteen and entering into university the following year. You'd never guess it by her social calendar and study habits though. Where Sarah spent five hours studying and one hour with friends, Laney spent the inverse. Nothing to do with her program of studies either. Laney was on her way to the first of what Sarah thought would be many degrees of various levels and fields of engineering. It was Laney's brother; however, that secured her place with them on weekend evenings. A graphic artist, he easily managed a state identification card and Laney's staunch rule of having but one drink a night kept her from getting into any real trouble with it.

"Sarah," she whined, showing her real age, "you've got to come out with us. We never see you anymore. You're always at Tim's or he's at your place. It's no good, you two acting like an old married couple already."

Legitimately, she had a point, but Sarah found an unexplainable comfort in Tim. "I know, but I think he had something special planned."

"The girls have been planning this for over a year!"

So she decided to play the seniority card. There was no resisting Laney when brown eyes filled with desperation sunk in her youthful face and began to plead with you. "Alright, alright, I'll ask him if we can celebrate Sunday night."

Gathering up both Sarah's hands, the barely seventeen year old smiled triumphantly. "You'll see, we're going to have a fabulous time."

Though she smiled back, Sarah doubted the validity of her friend's claim, but at heart, she hoped for it. Hoped that a night out with her girl friends would bring back the luster in her life after feeling so even keeled of late, so without variance, so lacking in excitement. 'It will be good,' she promised herself. 'I'll force it to be if necessary,' she thought, 'for fear that I have lost my ability to have fun."

By the fourth stop, Sarah realized attending a strip club was far more fun when one had ingested a fair amount of liquor. The men grew more attractive and the immodesty of stuffing small bills into the tiny band of elastic which kept her from knowing them in a more intimate nature seemed to fade. Too intoxicated to drink another drop, she was happy when the last bar invited her to lie a top their main table and offered up body shots for those in the immediate area. Sarah was hysterical with giggles and squeals, not thinking once what Tim would say. Maybe that was for the best, maybe she was too serious about him?

Laney under Sarah's left arm and another mutual friend beneath her right, the thoroughly intoxicated girl was escorted to her apartment. The doormen were accommodating, smiling with knowing as they staggered through the main doors. The make up of the city made driving impractical and in their current condition, it was for the best. "I love you," Sarah slurred inside the elevators just before she slid from their shoulders and sat on the floor.

"We love you, too," Laney reassured her trying to hoist her back up.

Sarah didn't budge. "Just let me sit for a minute," she pleaded. "Just till we get there." There were only a few floors, but it was enough time for her eyes to close and her head to rock. The quick stop and melodic ding of the elevator jarred her awake. "Fourth floor, bath towels, ladies lingerie." The two hoisted the dead weight and heaved it down the hall to the correct door. Once inside, Sarah put up little resistance to being changed and tucked into bed.

Round about three in the morning, the nearly lifeless mortal stirred, head spinning, stomach in knots she dragged herself to the kitchen for a large glass of ice water. There she sat, relying heavily upon table and chairs she'd found at Room and Board for support. Any question she'd had about Tim's place in her life had been answered. If having fun meant feeling like this, if this was what being a single woman was going to be like then she hoped he'd ask for her hand at dawn and put an end to the suffering which seemed to plague even her hair. When she stood, she would have sworn her toenails hurt.

Tears wet her eyes as Sarah took in just how alone she felt, awake before the sun with no face to smile at her with reassurance, no hand to soothe her. Where were the friends who had encouraged her to get to this point? Gone. Deserted her! She had no one and at this hour she could call upon no one.

Glass half empty, she realized how wrong she was. Stumbling to the bedroom, she lie back down, her face on the foot end of the bed. Shaking fingers worked her tangled locks into a lopsided bun. Pulling the curtains and looking around first, she concentrated on the door, her head formed the words. If only her tongue had put forth as much effort. "I hog you needle." 'Damn,' she thought hearing this. Regardless of the water, her mouth still felt like it had been lined with down. "I mean, you need me Higgle...Hoggle...Hoggle. You need me Hoggle, you need me." The room spun a few times. Everything began to dance. It was not the first time Sarah had felt this way. Sweet slumber claimed her in its cool darkness. From a far corner of the room she thought she heard music.


	2. Chapter 1

**A.N. **Thanks to everyone who gave my intro a read. Thanks to Chibi for pointing out that my scene breaks didn't care over. I have since resolved this issue. SynD...How do I love you? Let me count the ways ;) Dark Green Rose, I hope the transition, while not what you were expecting, doesn't disappoint you any. Great to see all those familiar faces from BTTL...you guys were really my encouragement to do this all again! And McFly85...my story appreciates that you make out with...careful of papercuts!

**CHAPTER ONE**

What was little more than a dull buzz sounded like a saw in Sarah's head. Feeling around on the king sized mattress she grabbed whatever she found handy and hurled it at the alarm clock. There was a crash when it left the dresser where it had been so strategically placed. The noise was enough to rouse the woman, now conscious enough to acknowledge her improved accuracy. For a few minutes it was easy to deny the necessity of leaving the bed she found so warm, so safe, but the closer alertness came, the more she realized so many valid arguments for relinquishing her affair with her dreams. The night before had left a horrid taste in her mouth and her bladder was stretched to maximum capacity. Tossing her legs over the bed, Sarah hoisted herself onto the shaky twigs. A quick hand kept her from running headlong into what, through the slits serving as her open eyes, appeared to be the wall. Uneven stucco finish confirmed it. Wall. She'd fallen asleep with her head at the foot of the bed again. It seemed she did so more and more these days. 'About face,' she told her feet as they turned her in the opposite direction. Smooth sailing this time.

Once her bare feet hit the tile floors in the bathroom there was no longer hope of doing only what was necessary and returning to the land beneath the blankets. "Good Christ," Sarah moaned when she saw herself in the mirror. "I haven't had nearly enough fun in my life to look this bad." In reality, with a decent night's rest and the simplest sweep of rouge, she looked every bit thirty-something in a sophisticated way. Most would have said thirty one or thirty two, only because acquiring a law degree and making partner at a major Chicago law firm were not the accomplishments of a child from the baby boom generation. The mere fact Sarah had accomplished all she had by thirty five was impressive by even the highest standards.

Splashing a bit of water on her face, she sighed. In her youth she'd been very much a morning person. Spry, ready to fly from her bed and embrace the mystery the day had in store for her, but childhood was far behind her now. It seemed with each passing year she'd plea bargain a few more minutes sleep in the morning for a later and later night. Popping open the shower door and stepping out of her nightgown, Sarah placed herself beneath the pulsating shower heads in her master bath. The heating lamp above cast an amber glow on her already creamy skin which the jets blasted, chasing away the stiffness in her aching muscles. No one could say she didn't have the kind of luxurious master bath anyone in their right mind would have been glad to wake up to, but if one was to drag themselves from the depths of slumber in order to begin their day with rituals that punished the skin and shocked the senses, they may as well do it in as much comfort as possible.

Hot water reddened her skin, but Sarah loved a good hot shower. Several times throughout the course of her routine, she caught herself turning up the hot water as her skin would adjust to its temperature. Normally an efficient sort, Sarah had no problem being completely lackadaisical when it came to bathing. She'd exfoliate all her rough spots, elbows, knees, heels. Scour head to toe in a foaming rich lather, rinse. Work up shaving gel in her hands and careful smooth her legs and the underside of her arms. Then a thorough shampoo followed by a heat activated, three minute conditioning treatment. It was a process she'd actually managed to shorten by lobbing off several feet of hair as part of a cancer benefit the firm was participating in. At first Sarah shuddered at the thought of losing so much length, but when the PR people took the shots of her with the nine year old chemotherapy patient whose tiny head would now wear her raven tresses, it seemed inconsequential to say the least. The smallest silver lining by far being the notion that it cut lather, rinse, repeat down by half.

Regrettably, the knobs were tightened to their right most positions shortly before a puff of steam lead Sarah from the shower stall. Perpendicular to the shower stall, on the edge of the garden tub in which she sometimes loved to lie and read, a moisturizing body spray scented by honey and jasmine was liberally applied to her dewy skin and massaged in by her long fingers, manicured weekly by Philippe at a small salon on the ground floor of her apartment building. A towel dry of her hair preceded a couple dozen short, firm strokes through her damp locks before Sarah slid easily into her waiting robe, switching off the heat lamp as she left the little slice of heaven Moen had designed to her specifications.

Downstairs, she switched on the coffee machine and toasted a slice of whole grain bread. Cutting down to the single serving brewer, saved a good bit of counter space and helped keep the kitchen consistent with the clean, contemporary look Sarah seemed most pleased by. Methodically, she coated the toast in yogurt spread which she kept blended with fresh strawberries in a Philadelphia creamed cheese container hoping it would fool her brain and keep her hips in line. Revisiting the coffee maker, she filled a Cook County Bar Association mug three quarters of the way full, leaving room for a few splashes of french vanilla Coffeemate. With both hands full, she used her foot to push out the stool at the near end of her kitchen island.

From one of the large picture windows on the back side of her two story penthouse loft, Sarah had a beautiful view of the Clarence Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park. For a moment she gazed out appreciating the beauty of her city until the first bite of her toast filled her with disappointment. After a few seconds of chewing her tastebuds resigned to the missing flavor of fat in her morning meal. By the second bite they'd grown contented with the paltry substitute and by the first sip of coffee they were so overjoyed by the non-dairy cream hinted with decadent flavoring they would gladly consume the lifeless spread just to keep the rich, full bodied beverage nearby.

As she continued eating, Sarah switched on the tiny fold down screen hidden beneath her kitchen cabinets to catch the news. They promised the city would break the endless stretch of fifty degree weather March and April had brought with it. "'Bout time," she added randomly sipping from her mug. It was already the middle of May. Her eyes shifted to the lower right corner of the screen where she was reminded of a collection of dreadful facts. First it was only thirty eight degrees this morning, making the thirteen block jaunt to Bank One Plaza a brisk one for sure. Second, it was nearly six in the morning and if she was planning to get to work by 7:30 she had best finish her coffee sooner rather than later. Lastly, it was indeed the middle of May, the 16th to be exact. Had it not been for her divorce, she'd have been celebrating her thirteenth anniversary with Tim tonight. She snorted at the irony before polishing off her daily dose of caffeine, depositing the mug in the dishwasher, and taking the stairs back to her bedroom.

Being married was such a distant memory to her now, as distant as her childhood. She had packed up all of those things and forgotten all about being a kid, why couldn't she do the same with Tim. Banishing thoughts of him would have been easier if she had taken her mother's advice and moved out of the loft they had invested in together, but good property was hard to find in Chicago, almost as bad as New York City, especially some place worthy of Sidley, Austin, Brown and Wood's newest partner. No, she had to stay here on Michigan Avenue, it was all she'd known since graduation. Everything else seemed foreign to her. When she agreed to marry him, she knew immediately neither of their apartments would suit them long. In a cleansing process meant to take her physical space and her emotional space hand in hand to the next level, Sarah bid her college girl apartment farewell, leaving behind everything which was not as far along in life as she would like to think she had come. Leaving behind the youthful transgression of one's teenage years next to a small pile of alcohol inspired misadventures in her early twenties, the young, bound to be somebody, found her new locale at 910 South Michigan Avenue for just a little more than three quarters of a million dollars and promptly furnished it with the most modern pieces she could find from Marshall Fields and the catalog shops. Extravagant, to be sure. Necessary, not at all, but it was a good location, with quality schools, twenty-four hour top notch security, a parking lot and an onsite dry cleaners. Inside it offered three bedrooms, one of which was almost immediately made into a home office/library. This being the only spot in the loft where Sarah broke pattern of her contemporary likings and designed an old English style haven filled with dark woods, dim lighting and rich leathers. The other would have served well as a guest room or more hopefully a nursery, but we are not always rewarded in life with the riches we might believe we deserve.

For some time after the divorce, Sarah slept in the guest room, but it had been long enough now. Reclaimed and remodeled, the master suite was hers once more. Before changing, the former Mrs. McKnight spent a moment or two glancing down from her second story balcony. The bedrooms together with a sitting area/game room formed a huge U shape from which one could look down at all of Sarah's open first floor. The living room accentuated by a fireplace that made the most of the twenty foot cathedral ceiling, the family room, the dining area, the kitchen, the sliding doors to the outdoor balcony, the foyer with its magnificent chandelier, you could view them all, but the powder room, obstructed for obvious reasons. It was a bit much she admitted, but Sarah could afford it. After all, if she was expected to have the best when she was married, why not now that she was single?

Her walk in closet was a mirror of her true split personality. One side color coded with green, brown, blue, navy, black, grey, and charcoal suits while the other a sea of vibrant and commingling colors. Her image as a partner in the firm required her to be finely dressed on even the least client-centric days, but the more eclectic corners of the closet revealed a hidden side, a passion begun in youth and matured as she had grown. Music transformed her, set her free. The outfits she had her back to now were those she wore to clubs on the weekends with her friends, a guilty pleasure she attempted to engage in at least once a week for sanity purposes. Sadly, her sanity had not been addressed in several months now evidenced by a thin layer of dust on the toes of her favorite boots.

Reluctantly, she chose a neatly pressed charcoal, pinstripe, two piece, silk, Chanel suit. Then edged along to the blouses where she chose a high collared, off white number to wear beneath the jacket. Sitting on the bed chest just beneath the sleigh shaped foot board which had served as her pillow last night, Sarah slid her slender, generously long legs into the stockings she had plucked from her dresser drawer. Standing, she attached the garters before removing her robe and draping it neatly at her side. Slipping her arms through the straps of a white lace bra, which out of anal retentive necessity matched the pattern of her panties and her garter, Sarah stretched her arms around the back to do up the fasteners. Stopping just long enough to tell the woman in the mirror that she was still pretty good looking for a thirty five year old divorcee, she slipped the blouse over her head, fiddling with the neck until it was comfortable. Even though it seemed counterproductive to all the work the dry cleaners had done pressing the poly blend, she tucked it into the waistband of her suit skirt. Over her heals she slipped a slate grey pair of leather pumps credited to Anne Klein.

Before she gathered up her suit jacket, her laptop and her briefcase, Sarah returned her robe to the bathroom, applied a metered dollop of cinnamon flavored toothpaste to the end of her toothbrush. In short circular motions she polished the six external sections of her mouth, then opening wide, she repeated the process on the hard to reach underside. As her pediatric dentist ingrained upon her somewhere between Sesame Street and Scooby Doo, she managed her bad breath by scrubbing at her tongue before finishing off with back to back rinses of water and a corresponding plaque rinse. Something about finishing off with minty freshness after the clean, sharp taste of cinnamon made her think of jalapeno poppers and vinegar shots. Sarah coordinated scents and flavors religiously, never more thrilled then when the dental gods blessed her with the miracle of cinnamon rinse. Everything in the shower shared a common scent, her lotion matched her perfume, consistent cinnamon in her dental hygiene product was no surprise. Lastly she applied only the most basic makeup. A dab of concealor around the eyes until she could get a good night's rest, a light powder, a ruddy cheek creme, a few strokes of taupe mascara, more to thicken than color her lashes and a pale, nearly nude lipstick. A spritz of something made by Givenchy, the designer bottle more recognizable in Sarah's hand than the actual scent and she was ready to bravely face the day.

Before leaving the sanctity of her top floor loft, Sarah checked the coffee machine to make certain it was off, same with the television. At the door, she made a last minute decision to pull down a black cashmere wrap from her coat peg. Hoisting the strap of her laptop case over her right shoulder, she quickly covered it with the cashmere which cascaded across her back. Allowing the right side to hang, she plated the other end over her chest as protection against the often strong and bitter lakeshore wind. Her shoulder held the wrap in place leaving her right hand free for her briefcase. Loaded up, she moved out. Double checking the door behind her when she left, she made her way to the elevators. Monday meant Paulo would be there to swing open the door for her. Rocco, whose birth name was really Francis, and Derrick would be sitting at the security desk sipping black coffee.

"Good morning Miss Williams," Paulo smiled when he saw her shortening the gap between the elevator bank and his post.

It made her contemplate her name. Not wishing to pay the excessive fees associated with having the names on her various degrees changed, her official sir name retained the Williams her father had given her with Timothy's generously donated McKnight, coupled together with a quick hyphen. It wasn't that she was cheap, Sarah reasoned, only too practical to waste the equivalent of a pair of comfortable designer pumps on some processing jockey who would type, print and stamp an enlarged sheet of cream colored, bond quality paper. Four years of signing her checks, Sarah J. Williams-McKnight, followed by nine years alternating between the two with no rhyme or reason and suddenly in that instant she hadn't the slightest idea of how to address herself. It was as if losing Tim had somehow stolen her identity with it. She contemplated not changing it at all, but was deterred by the thought of being mercilessly referred to as Mrs. when she was no longer anyone's bride. In the very early months following her divorce, she flirted with being Miss Williams-McKnight-Williams. When better sense prevailed, she opted for returning to her maiden name alone in lieu of advertising her full history for the world to see.

"Good morning Paulo," she replied. "But really, I've lived here long enough you're welcome to call me Sarah."

"Yes Miss Williams," he agreed as he closed the door behind her.

Rocco stood when she passed the security desk, "Off to fight the good fight Miss Williams?"

A litigation attorney did her best, she supposed, to do just that, but at the end of the day it was hard to decide if you were really anything more than a glorified criminal defense attorney. "I'll do my best," she smiled. "Have a good day Derrick," she said to Rocco's silent partner. In return for her continually extended affections, she was rewarded with a wave.

The grey Chicago sky was slowly being shredded by the sun as it came splitting through the overnight cloudy build up. It was going to be a nice day once it heated up some. Though it was against her preference, the route she took to Dearborn varied just a little, day to day. For a single female living in a major city, monotony was a dangerous activity. Sarah had never felt threatened here. There was some getting used to the increase in population and the bustle of a large city, but they were inconveniences she gladly left the boredom of upstate New York for. No sense not being practical though, especially when she pulled the cord of her ear buds loose from an interior pocket of her briefcase. In theory she should have had them just loud enough to hear, but when Butch Walker sang through her MP3 player about Grant Park, resistance was futile. She wasn't sure if he meant her Grant Park or not, but it was Grant Park all the same. Every third step or so had a bit of a slide in it, making those bitter thirteen blocks seem more like a stage show inside her mind.

'I wonder what would happen,' Sarah thought, 'if I just burst into song and dance right here on the sidewalk between Wabash and State Streets?' It was an everyday occurrence. Music seemed to be the only thing capable of penetrating her blue Tiffany box of personal space and making her want to dance wildly like a child that didn't care who was watching. As her heels clicked onto Dearborn Street she heard the opening of _English Summer Rain_, a lone drum, then the guitar and the synthetic sounds. Casually she fell against one of the columns of Bank One Plaza. Her left foot slid up the stone and tapped unabashedly.

For reasons her mind didn't feel the need to search for, Sarah loved that song. It shared the monotony she felt everyday despite her change in route and shoes that numbered so many she could have easily worn a different pair each day of the month. Forced into maturity was no way to grow up and her inner child beckoned to her, begging to be allowed out. Naturally she'd cave into the urge now and again, but then she'd fight back that girl in the white linen dress and wrap her in something original shipped in from Soho. For whatever reason today the child had succeeded in distracting her to the point that her entire body flinched in time to the rhythm in her ears. This never happened, not in public. Sometimes in her office when she could get in a couple of groove worthy tunes, occasionally on the El when she had to fly, frequently in her apartment and always in her car. When she drove it was as if the wax they put on the Ferrari made her invisible to the rest of the highway patrons. As it were, the deep tinting of her windows helped some.

"Excuse me," he said when he picked up her wrap. Sarah couldn't hear a word. He smiled, hooking the cord for one of the buds, gently popping it loose of her ear. "Excuse me," he repeated as her eyes popped open. Sarah gasped. "I believe this is yours," he declared.

She blushed when she accepted her wrap, mortified at what he must have thought of her. The more she stuttered the wider his smile grew. Sarah ripped out the other bud, stuffing them in her case, balling up her wrap and sprinting into the building with a quick, "Thanks," over the shoulder to the good samaritan.

Upstairs she moved quickly to her office, avoiding eye contact with her secretary as she offered an obligatory morning greeting. She shut the door behind her, lay her bags on the ground, tossed the wrap on a leather couch in the corner and settled into her leather high back. At her desk, she let her hands catch her falling head. The heat in her cheeks still evidence of her embarrassment which may not have seemed so detrimental had the gentleman who retrieved her wrap not been so obviously amused by Sarah's momentary indiscretion. Recalling him vividly, she saw the high ribbed turtle neck of his sweater, rich chocolate. She noticed the way it had been tucked into the waistband of his charcoal Armani pants. His hands were well manicured, his hair blown about by the wind, but cut short. His eyes friendly and his demeanor playful. That was what she resented the most. Notions that anyone could be successful, in appearance anyway, and yet act as carefree as he had, as novel. His reflection in the black glass of her building foyer showed him practically dancing as he sauntered away, as if her music had some how skipped into his head. His clothes had not been cheap and unless he was the heir of a great fortune he had to have a well paying employment of some sort. Random conclusions continued to form in her mind. Would her whole day be wasted on this man?

"No," she said as she opened her laptop and began plugging in. Karen was right. The time for fantasy in Sarah's life had come to pass. There were three cases waiting on her desk, two had filings due by the end of the week and the third was going to pre–trial by the end of the month.

Annette brought in a steaming cup of coffee. "Several messages came in for you this morning," she said as she set down the porcelain mug. Reaching into the pocket of her blazer she handed over a thin stack of pink slips. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No," Sarah snapped. Even she couldn't deny how abrasive she sounded. "I've got a lot of work to do Nettie, so no calls or visitors unless it's urgent."

"Should I call Miss Cass then and cancel your lunch?"

'Damn!' she thought. "No, I'll be able to make lunch if I can work through this morning with no interruptions."

"Yes Miss Williams," Annette replied taking her leave. She'd been Sarah's secretary since her promotion to partner and while that wasn't necessarily a long time, it had been enough to be surprised by the edge in her boss's voice.

Waiting for the door to close again, Sarah sighed heavily as she went to her window. At first she only parted the slats of the blinds to peer out at the city below her, but when she saw the sun had finally made it's debut, she tugged on the cords which rose the blinds to invite it inside. Forty-eight stories down, the city was really only beginning to wake up. The eight o'clock starters filed in from the El and various shuttles. The nine o'clocks would drag in soon and before she had time to finish the exhibits for the Weatherly file, it would be lunch. Laney liked to meet at 11:30 to keep from needing to take two hour lunches, which was fine by Sarah. Her five a.m. breakfast rarely lasted her longer than that anyway.

A few minutes of observing the dots on the sidewalk as they shuffled about, greeting one another, passing each other by without a care, rushing headlong into the slower and less suspecting and she was wondering about that man, the one who smiled sweetly at her this morning. It vexed her that he had managed to take up so much of her morning. He was nothing of her type. Too much like Tim if she were going to be honest. Clean cut, reliable, upstanding. Sarah was all those things. She didn't need a man to be them for her. But still, the easy way he pulled her ear bud loose and the subtle brush of his fingers over the back of her hand when he returned her property seemed to distract her from everything.

Reaching for her coffee, she confessed to the plants, "I was a bitch to Nettie. I should apologize. It isn't her fault I made an ass out of myself in front of a total stranger whose very existence seems to have me questioning this rigid and clinical environment which only Friday I seemed to find myself content with." Before she could even come close to the door, Nettie threw it open.

"It's line two Miss Williams."

"Who is it?"

"They said they were family."

"Is it urgent?" she asked suddenly regretting the idea of apologizing.

"I didn't ask."

"Fine, fine," Sarah groused. Taking a sip of her coffee which lacked any medium of cream she would have added in droves she mumbled, "Why do I even have an assistant if they can't take basic instruction." In her drawer she pulled out a cinnamon Altoid to cleanse the bitter taste of black coffee from her tongue. "This is Sarah."

"Sis! I was afraid I'd get stuck leaving you another message."

"No Toby, you got me," and apparently he was wise to the fact she had been attempting to ignore him all week, "but I'm really busy. I've got a big hearing coming up and plenty to do to prep for it."

"I thought you were a partner now. Don't you have some grunt level associate who you can hand it off to?"

Offended, Sarah practically roared at her little brother. "I am a partner now and I got the promotion based on the quality of my work. I can't just pass it off on some wet eared second year and then sign my name at the bottom, go to court and have the judge throw me out for bringing a piece of garbage to his bench."

"Relax would ya? I was just pulling your leg."

"What do you need Toby?" Her patience had already been tried and convicted this morning.

"I'm coming over tonight. I need to talk to you and since you've become the ever elusive Sarah Williams, I figure you've earned a visit from your little brother."

"It's not a good night Toby. I've no idea how long I'll need to work."

"I'll wait," he said before she could go on with more reasons why his visit would be pointless.

"Toby!"

"Love you sis," there was a kissing sound and then silence.

"Toby?...Toby?...Great!" Slamming down the receiver she added, "I don't need this!'

* * *

When the intercom brought Annette's voice to her, Sarah jumped. "It's twenty past eleven Miss Williams. Miss Cass is expecting you shortly or should I phone her to let her know you won't be able to make it?"

Depressing the button, Sarah let out an exhausted, "No." She'd managed to finish four of the exhibits for the brief in the Weatherly case. "Only twelve more." Rubbing her eyes she decided they would wait until after lunch. Briefcase in hand, she left the building walking north on Dearborn, headphone free this time. At Chicago Avenue she turned right, left on Michigan and there in front of the Hancock was Laney. Already pacing because it was just about twenty to twelve.

"I was beginning to think you'd stood me up," Laney huffed, ducking inside to reserve a table before the lunch rush came.

Sarah took her time getting inside. Sure she was hungry, but there was no need to look like a fourth grader on pizza day at school. Were it her decision they'd have met someplace else. Hell, she'd have been happier to eat at the top of the Hancock where they had excellent food. It wasn't that the Cheesecake Factory didn't have good food. They did. Avocado eggrolls and portabello sandwiches and salads to suit any taste, but every time Sarah met Laney here she felt like she'd walked into an adult Chuck E. Cheese sans the games and that was exactly what she thought made it seem so attractive to Laney.

"Five minutes," she told Sarah triumphantly when she made it to her side. "I bet if you'd have been on time, we'd be seated by now."

"Sorry."

Laney shrugged. "So, what did you do this weekend?"

"Laundry."

"You're kidding!" She wasn't. Her eyes told the bouncing brunette as much. "Sarah," she whined in two distinct syllables making it seem far more traumatic than it actually had been. "Honey you need to re-enter the scene if you get my drift."

"I'm fine. I didn't feel like going out. I got some decent Chinese and rented a few movies."

"What did you rent?"

"I don't remember."

"You didn't do a damn thing this weekend did you?...did you?"

"Cass, party of two?" the hostess called.

"Did you?" Rather than answer, Sarah shoved her friend gently in the direction the hostess had gone in.

"You know, you are too young for this," Laney picked up where she'd left off when they'd been interrupted. "You can't just hole up in that apartment of yours, no matter how comfortable you find it, and wait for life to happen to you."

"What am I missing?" Sarah asked earnestly as the waiter arrived.

"Good afternoon ladies," his greeting immediately disturbed Sarah, who knew perfectly well it was not yet noon let alone after, but the subtly was wasted on Laney. "My name is Sumner and I'll be making your lunch as enjoyable an experience as possible. May I get you ladies something to drink? We offer a wide selection of martinis or, if you'd rather, a bottled water, soda, tea?"

Having made two attempts to tell him what she would like only to have him go on without so much as breathing or blinking, Sarah turned away. 'Go on,' she thought, 'read the whole menu to me and when you're through I'll tell you that tap water with a slice of lemon will be fine.'

But before she could give life to the concept of karma, Laney squealed, "Oooo the strawberry lemonade, we'll have those."

"Very good choice miss. Our specials today are the..."

Sumner went on with a litany of things which had been overstocked in the inventory. He didn't pause, didn't confirm that Sarah would want to partake of the beverage which had been ordered in her name without her consent or interest for that matter. Perhaps they'd be happier if she left. It was obvious that Sumner didn't require her willing participation in this meal.

"Sarah?"

"Huh?" she asked startled.

"Something to start you off miss?"

"Ah, the avocado egg rolls thanks."

"For you as well? Right away."

"Sarah! I ordered the eggrolls. Sumner, I apologize. I don't know what's wrong with my friend today. Two lemonades, one order of eggrolls and a few minutes to look over the menu. Thank you."

"Yes miss."

"Are you alright?" Laney asked.

"I'm fine."

Appearing disinterested Laney looked at the ceiling, unfolded her napkin and began counting the sweet and low packets on the table, "Okay then." She began building a house out of the packets the same way she'd been taught with playing cards.

Grabbing them from her hands, Sarah shoved the tiny pink rectangles into their holder. Sumner put a huge glass in front of each of them, the edges rimmed with sugar, waited for a smile from Laney, and left again. "Would you act like an adult," Sarah barked when he was gone.

Leaning in, Laney spat back, "I'll act like an adult when you stop treating me like a child."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Before responding to her, the petite brunette took a long sip of lemonade from the sugared rim of the cup. "Something's obviously bothering you, but you don't want to tell me about it. We've been friends since we were kids." Sarah didn't even remember what being a kid felt like. "I went through your divorce with you Sarah and never once did you ever let on you had an emotion about the whole thing. You put on some strong face. You told me you and Tim were just not working together. To this day I still couldn't say with any certainty that you gave a damn when he left?"

'Trust me,' the former Mrs. McKnight thought, 'I gave a damn.' Rather than confess it, she tried the lemonade. It wasn't bad, a bit sweet for her liking but it was fresh squeezed.

Tired of waiting for a response, Laney started in again. "When are you going to let me in Sarah? When are you ever going to trust someone enough to let them in and let them help?"

In all the years she'd counted on Laney's company, listened to her problems and solved her crises, she never considered her friend would want to do the same for her given the chance. No one else had. In fact, since Toby had been born Sarah felt all too comfortable in the mother role. Perhaps that was what put her and Laney together in the first place. The significant difference in their life experiences made it easy to feel motherly toward her. Twenty one was a long time gone and while Sarah felt so much older than thirty five, Laney was really only about four years younger than her. How much worse could this be than the awkward moment with the stranger this morning? The day had already taken a sharp downward turn into hell, why not drive around a bit?

"You're right," she confessed, suddenly holding all of Laney's attention.

Sumner returned for the third time. "Your appetizer will be out in just a moment. Have you chosen a lunch selection ladies?"

"We need another minute," Sarah said when Laney didn't so much as blink.

"Do you have any questions?" he offered.

"What part of we need another minute did she not say in English?" Laney snapped. There was the wild teenager she recalled so fondly. Sumner slunk away and Sarah hid a tiny chuckle in the rim of her lemonade.

"This morning I had the weirdest thing happen with this strange guy I'd never met before." Once Laney bit at the crux of her problem, Sarah backed up and started with waking up that morning and how much she had been thinking about Tim. Then she made a revelation of her own. "That's why you wanted to have lunch today." Laney looked guilty. "You remembered this was my anniversary."

"I have," she confessed. "Every year since I was your maid of honor. I know you don't like to admit Sarah, but it must be a hard day for you. I thought if I could be there without your knowing, I could at least keep your mind occupied for a bit."

Keeping the brilliant woman across the table from her at arm's length was an error in judgment she was rapidly beginning to regret. Perhaps she had been hasty in thinking her inexperience and zest for life were foolish immaturity. Their progress seemed to summon the waiter who came with appetizers in hand and made no attempt to take their orders after having been refused so many times. This time they stopped him. "I'll have the steak salad," Laney ordered.

A picture on the menu caught Sarah's eyes and she asked for the Chinese Chicken Salad before going on with the details. How she'd been listening to the radio, distracted by the music, too distracted to notice the man when he approached, when he retrieved her garment.

"It's dangerous walking around like that, with your music so loud. Lord knows I love a good decibel level, but what if he'd have been a mugger, or a vagrant who got frustrated with you for not answering him. Sarah you could have walked in front of a car."

"I know, I know, but you're missing the point. It was humiliating, having someone see me..."

"With your guard down?"

"Yes Laney. It's not in my nature to be myself with most people." A tiny smile played across her lips.

The avocado eggrolls were as good as ever and Sarah, feeling particularly brave, decided to try the dipping sauce. It looked harmless enough. There was a shade to it, keeping it from being mistaken for water, but it was a mild tint, less than that of Italian dressing. A few flakes of Pico de Gallo gathered in the bottom. Nibbling off the edge where each eggroll had been cut in half julienne style, Sarah soaked it in the clearish liquid, it reminded her of the salty dip they served with the deep fried spring rolls at the Thai place near her apartment. Merrily she bit in. Laney's eyes echoed her own as they grew wide. She reached for her lemonade taking in an excessive amount. The sweet didn't so much get rid of the spicy as it did blend with it, reminding her why she was so obsessive about coordinating flavors.

"This is why I use cinnamon rinse with my cinnamon toothpaste," she eeked out.

"What?" Laney asked. "Never mind," she decided flagging down Sumner while he was with another table. "Could we get a water over here, please?"

Moments later, Sumner handed her the water first, before doling out their meals. "Can I get you a refill?" he inquired when he saw the empty lemonade and the nearly empty water. Sarah only nodded.

The instant he left, Laney asked "Come out with us some time? This weekend? It would be good for you to get out a bit."

"Let's not take me too far in my first step. I'll take you up on it some time...soon," she added when Laney looked disappointed.

A few bites later her good friend asked, "So are you going to see him again?"

"Are you nuts?" Sarah asked. "Laney, he was a total stranger passing me on a sidewalk in a city with a population of over three million! He could have been visiting for all I know. On a long holiday to spend time with his sick aunt or finalize wedding plans with his blonde super model fiancé."

After flagging down the now leery Sumner and requesting a second souffle cup of ranch dressing, Laney debated, "Interesting you should give a total stranger you have no interest in meeting again an ailing aunt."

"And a super model fiancé."

"You're definitely generous. I'll give you that." Sumner brought two fresh lemonades. Sarah already felt as though she had an entire pot of espresso, but she sipped on any way because it was better than listening to Laney. "Sarah, what if this guy is your one...other true love?"

Lemonade nearly burst out of her clenched lips. "My one _other_ true love is not some random stranger who laughs at people as he picks up their sweater. Besides, he's not my type."

"Not bad enough for you?" the spunky brunette asked, innocently allowing her eyes to fall back on her salad.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't act innocent with me Sarah Williams. Ever since Tim you've only gone after the bad guy type. The kind of guy who's, well, nothing like you."

"I can't help who I'm attracted to." What was left of the Chinese Chicken Salad was slowly pushed away.

"No," Laney agreed, "but I have to wonder how you and Tim ever got together in the first place."

This was a topic she didn't really care to discuss. "Can we get a check? I've got a lot of work to get back to."

"Sarah, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's fine. Can we just get a check, please?"

"Sarah?"

"Laney, please, Toby's coming over tonight and I owe it to him to be home by a reasonable hour."

There was probably some truth to it. Toby often had to trap his sister into spending time with him by visiting. She was obsessed with her career, almost consumed with it since the divorce. "Yeah honey, that's fine, we can go." She reached out to take her good friend's hand. "It's me Sarah. I've been thinking lately about why I've never had anyone near permanent in my life and it came out as an attack against you. I know how much you loved Tim. It was wrong. I'm sorry."

Her carefully lined eyes grew wet and she fought the urge to blink and loosen the tears. "Sumner, the check please." Their waiter nodded. "Laney, hon, I know it doesn't seem like it, but there's someone out there for each of us. If we're lucky there's more than one someone for each of us."

It was the tiny brunette whose tears fell first. "What if I met my someone? What if my someone gave me change at the Whole Foods store and I never thought a thing about it? What if my someone is an executive in Japan and I'm never going to meet him because I despise flying?"

"Don't you think you're being a little melodramatic?"

"What if my someone married someone else because he was tired of waiting for me to show up in his life?"

"What if all this paranoid worry over something you've got no control over keeps you from leaving the house long enough to find your someone?" At the thought Laney looked more green than what was left of their salads. "Dear, sweet, Laney, you are a beautiful, compassionate, free woman. The idea that no man has placed a solitaire on your finger one, stands to further my suspicions that men don't want women who appear to not need them and two, amazes me more than the Sponge Bob phenomenon."

"So I should be more vulnerable?"

"Absolutely not! You should be all that you are naturally and wait for a man worthy of what you have to offer to enter your life. Don't ever settle for someone. It's the best advice I have to give you."

"Sarah," her voice was hedging, shaky, "Did you settle for Tim?"

"Maybe. A little. I loved him, don't get me wrong, but I loved him for the wrong reasons, I think. He made me feel safe, secure. Tim was sensible, practical, factual. He was sweet, but not exhilarating."

"Don't you want to feel safe and secure?"

"Sure, but I want to feel unnerved too. I can't explain it."

"But you were so upset when he left."

Sarah shoved a Visa card in front of Sumner before he could select their bill from his order pad. Laney made a move to pay, but it was dismissed when Sarah reminded the waiter they were in a bit of a hurry. "I was upset. I was losing my best friend. They always say that. 'Marry your best friend and you'll be happy.' I'm proof that doesn't always work. There are certain things I want from the man in my life that I don't want from my best friend. I have you to lunch with, you to make me laugh, you to commiserate with. I'm not making any sense."

"Yes you are. You are. Enough, of this," Laney pronounced. "I was supposed to be cheering _you_ up."

"You have, honestly you have" she reassured her friend as she penned her name across the bottom of the Visa slip. "Hey," she called as a second thought came to her. Whispering she suggested to Laney, "Maybe Sumner's your someone." A playful swat from Laney accompanied the fit of giggles that overcame them both.

* * *

When Sarah finally looked up from the Weatherly file, it was just past six o'clock. There were three more exhibits to wade through before the brief would be ready for filing, but by now she was sure Toby would be on his way, if not in the lobby. The determination in his voice made her sure of that. Regardless of how much she wanted to wrap up at least this one case, Sarah plunked the file on the left hand corner of her walnut desk. "I guess there'll be twice as much to do tomorrow." She gathered her briefcase. But it was when she slung her wrap over her shoulder she stopped. There was that face again, that smiling, relaxed face, prominent and alive. Shaking it off, she snatched a sheet of paper from her blotter. "Here's my time Nettie."

Gathering the flung paper and giving it a quick once over, the secretary paused. "Ms. Williams?"

"Yes Nettie," she replied a little more than perturbed.

"Sorry Miss, but this is, well..."

"The entire day. Bill the entire day to Weatherly!"

"Yes Miss, but would you like your portrait back?"

"What?" she spun, snatching the sheet. Fleeting and familiar eyes etched in the blue ink from a silver Cross pen stared back at her, a crooked smile on his smudged lips. Shoving it in her briefcase, she continued on her way. The ear buds stayed in her bag. She had taken enough chances, thank you.

Brisk air had given way to the humidity as she treaded on. The inside of her elbow grew sticky with perspiration as she cursed the cashmere swatch hanging over it. Her complex in sight, Sarah's feet seemed to find a second wind. In a city so filled with diverse architecture, she had surely chosen the most perfectly square box in which to live. Perhaps it said more about her than she would have liked to. Shifts had changed, she realized when Jason flung the door open for her. Had the day grown so late so soon?

"Good evening Miss Williams."

"Good evening. Has anyone been by looking for me?"

"Yes ma'am. I do believe your brother was let in earlier this evening."

"Let in!" she raged.

Growing nervous, Jason quickly justified, "It was the security guards who let him in. Said they recognized him."

"Ms. Williams. He was exhausted from waiting for you," one of the guards told her. "If we hadn't have known him I assure you we wouldn't have done it."

Without comment, Sarah marched passed the lot of them. Inside the elevator, she growled, livid at the lack of courtesy shown for her personal space. Cracking, her fingernail fell to the floor as she attempted to drill the button for her floor. Missing the target any way, the nail became a casualty of her irritation and now there would be an extra stop on her way upstairs. Someone on the twenty-second floor was waiting to go down. With confused, blue, watery eyes which nearly matched her hair, the just over four foot grandmotherly type clicked her dentures in Sarah's direction as though she'd planned the detour. Nervously, the young girl smiled, but the woman only knitted her snowy brow and turned away.

"Constantly on display for the judgment of others," her mother had always warned her when she was no bigger than the woman from the twenty-second floor. "Do your best to be perfect dearest. No one wants you when you're not at your best."

Falling against the back wall of the elevator Sarah sighed, "I suppose I shall never be wanted again then."

When the small, metal encased capsule could climb no higher, the doors spread. There was the tacky red carpet which had gone so well with the creamy café latte color which once graced the interior halls. But since management had decided to freshen things up with a coat of colonial blue, or so they called it, there was a bit of a contrast. To Sarah, it was more a faded denim and it made the hallways seem decked in Americana. Deep breaths accompanied the thirty or so steps she took to the right, down the corridor, passed the garbage drop and the emergency exit. Outside her door she hesitated, feeling almost guilty about going in. Knowing her brother was waiting inside suddenly made her feel like an intruder in her own home. Worse still, they both knew she'd been avoiding him, there would be no chance of that now. Instinctively she knocked. No one answered. Her key turned in the door and she broke the threshold less than confidently.

His thick, nearly black hair blended with the leather on her couch as he slept. She watched him, a rough smile playing on her lips. She loved to watch him sleep. Something about Toby's peaceful demeanor came through in his sleep. He looked like he savored the rest, relaxation radiating from him like a starlight. Sarah wondered how long she'd kept him waiting, regret sweeping through her like a cool wind. Not just for working late today, when it seemed so important for Toby to see her, but for the last year or so and what she'd put him through. Most who knew them were aware Sarah's husband had left and could sympathize with how difficult it was, but few could fathom what Toby had lost. Through it all he fared quite a bit better than his sister, one would say. He stayed truer to himself, even Sarah would have agreed with that.

Taking a seat on the arm of the couch, Sarah let her fingers troll through his spiky hair. Time had made him handsome. Experience had made him mature. A life free of obligations made him young at heart. He was a publisher by trade, but counterbalanced his deadline oriented career with hobbies like biking, running, mountain climbing, white water rafting. The closer it got him to nature, the more it seemed to chip away at the suits and ties and leather loafers. It was a shame really, for as good looking as he was in his sweater and slacks, hair somewhat disheveled and dreaming on her couch, it was hard to find the man who could out Armani her brother when he decide to dress to the nines. Simple, classic, debonair. If she'd been limited to three words to describe him, physically, that would have been it.

Lost in her own thoughts, Sarah jumped when Toby stirred, both equally startled by his return to the conscious world. "Jesus Sarah!" he exclaimed as he bolted upright. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry Goldilocks, but I wasn't expecting you in my bed when I came home."

Pulling her into his arms, the siblings shared a tender hug. "I've really missed you," he told the woman in his arms sincerely. "How are things?"

"Fine, fine," she lied trying not to cry. "Everything is just fine."

Skeptically, he cocked his head until their eyes were very nearly perpendicular. "Really?"

"Really," she lied again this time taking a deep breath and changing the topic, "So you hungry?"

"Sarah," he sounded just like their father, a mixture of disbelief and disappointment deepening his tone.

"Come on Toby, Giordano's, my treat."

Narrowing brows critiqued her. Nothing in her stance indicated she wanted to spew forth her deepest emotions, even if her soul was ready to burst. "With pepperoni?" he bartered.

"And mushroom."

"No. You know I hate mushrooms."

"So pick them out."

Less than five minutes together and they were back to behaving like the adolescents they once were, quibbling over whose turn it was, what they wanted on their pizzas. In a moment they'd argue about what to watch on the television. Toby chuckled, happy to have this with Sarah once more, even if he knew it would be fleeting at best. "I'll meet you half way. I'll pick out your mushrooms if you tell me what's on your mind."

"I thought you needed to talk to me about something."

"True, but something tells me you need to talk as much if not more than I need you to listen."

Years of feeling like his parent culminated in his one sentence. Too proud to expose herself to the child and too stubborn to listen. "I'm going to shower and change," she said to him with definite authority. From her briefcase, she withdrew a few bills. "Tell the doorman to let the pizza guy in and give him all of this."

Ruffling the bills, he announced, "Sarah, there's thirty two dollars here."

"Yes, and the man delivers to me as quickly as he can, even though I'm three blocks outside his area. Just give him the money," she snapped.

A six figure salary was wasted on just one person. Sarah did not weep with sorrow or heartbreak when she parted with it. Bills paid, luxuries acquired, family taken care of, and a healthy stash for retirement, why not enjoy what remained. Toby was more like his mother, staunch, thrifty, too proud to take 'hand-outs', including any attempt Sarah made to assist him, no matter how meager.

Quickly enough, Sarah was in and out of the shower, donned in more comfortable attire, she reentered the living area on the lower level in a grey track suit, the shirt embroidered with her firm's logo. "Pizza's on the table," Toby called from the kitchen. "Can I get you a drink?"

"There's a Cabernet Sauvignon in the wine rack," she ordered, taking a seat before one of the place settings at the table. Unfolding the napkin, Sarah allowed it to fall across her lap.

Joining his sister, Toby set down her wine. "Don't you think there's something to the old pairing of pizza and beer?" he scoffed as she wafted in the bouquet before staining her lips burgundy.

"Neither I nor any of my companions," she chose, "swill beer." Two generous slices were served.

Innocently, Toby asked, "When did they form good old SABW?"

Confusion rumpled her face, only to be ironed out as he pointed to her shirt. "1866," Sarah replied.

Chewing his food, he looked coyly from the tops of his eyes, keeping his chin pinned to his chest. "And were you one of the founding partners?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked hotly.

"It's supposed to mean," he explained, setting down his silverware, "beer is an acceptable beverage for swilling, as you say. White wine isn't just for fish anymore. Grey is not the new black and you can comfortably wear white shoes after labor day if the attire so calls for it. Would you stop acting like you're one of the staunch, heady, republican, steel backs that you work for? At least for a minute, at least around me, for Christ's sake!"

"I am a republican. You're a republican. Father was republican."

"I understand that, but father deviated where sense called for it. Father realized that while you might favor a certain system of belief, you have the freedom to subject them to your own personal beliefs and compromise between the two."

Sarah stopped eating at his observation. "I'm expected to behave a certain way around my colleagues."

"I'm not a colleague," he argued.

"It's not that easy to just turn it on and off."

"Why not? You'll grow old before your time, Sarah I swear. You're wound so tight, I wonder how it is you keep from bursting." Toby reached for her hand, only to have it immediately yanked from his grip. "You really ought let loose once in a while."

Trying to meet him half way she quipped, "Is that how you want your sister to be known throughout the city, loose?"

"You know what I mean."

"Toby, I have done my best to stop being your mother and work at being your sister. Can we agree that is loose enough for now?"

"In all due respect Sarah, I have outgrown my need for a mother and what it is I desire now, even more than a sister, is a friend. If I can't search for friendship in the eyes of my only sister, where should I hunt?"

"Right," she smiled across the narrow glass top of her contemporary dining set. "And for what purpose do you seek this friend?"

"To share good news." Eyes glistening he took in her frozen expression. "Sarah I bought a house, a small place in Peotone."

"A house," the wine seemed to solidify and lodge in her throat reclaiming it's childhood as a grape. "What do you need a house for?" There was almost a snicker in the vibrations of her query.

Eyes as coy as they had been when Toby accused her only moments earlier of being antiquated he added, "That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about."


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

'Dear Lord,' Sarah thought as she watched the corners of her brother's mouth turn up. She knew what his next words would be, they were written across his face as plain as any billboard. Her mouth hung open as she waited.

Toby's smirk grew so it almost became painful. "Sarah, I've met someone."

Tinkling, her fork fell against her plate, freeing her hand to forceful hoist her glass from the table, so she could rapidly finish the several ounces of wine which remained. She knew it. 'Damn it,' she said to herself. Aloud she asked, "You've met someone and your natural reaction to that is to buy real estate?"

"Perhaps met someone is too casual a term. We've been dating for six months."

"Six months!" Looking at the wine glass in her hand, Sarah seemed appalled at its inability to refill itself and return promptly to her side. Now useless to her, she shoved the long stem goblet aside. "You've been dating someone for six months and I'm only finding out now." Her eyes spoke more than her words, crying out their disappointment in perfect unison.

Irritated himself now, Toby shoved his plate aside, "Well, had you bothered to take my calls or return my messages once or twice, I might have been able to let you in on what was happening in my life."

"That's not fair!"

"Oh it's fair sis, it's more than fair."

"It's fair of you to just go out and meet a woman who, who what, lures you into buying a place out in the suburbs, away from your family, where you two can shack up? Jesus Toby, this is just like you. You're so...so..." her anger kept her from thinking in a steady stream of assumptions. "What do you even know about this woman? Are you sure she's single? I mean maybe she just wanted this place because she was afraid one of her husband's colleagues would see the two of you in the city together."

From his lap, the handsome young man took his napkin, wiped his mouth before balling it in his hands, then throwing it to the table. "That's right, Sarah, you got me. I'm shacking up with someone else's wife and the reason I needed to talk to my sister, the attorney, so badly is because we need someone to handle the divorce who will keep the affair from coming out so that she doesn't lose her fortune to some irrational clause in her prenup." At that he stood and made a quick snatch at his jacket on his way to the door.

Sarah followed him, "Toby, you know I don't do family law, but I'm sure we can ask someone for a recommendation. Even if I could represent you," she explained to him when his sad eyes fell to her, "it would be a conflict of interest. The opposing counsel would object."

"Jesus Christ Sarah!"

"Well they would!"

"Is this what you think of me? Do you still think I'm that impetuous teenage boy who would crush on his best friend's girlfriend?" She stared at him, confused, waiting to hear more. "Sarah, Rowan is not married." If it were possible, she turned even more red. Toby found himself smiling the more her anger grew. "Well, she is engaged, but I don't think I have to worry about that much."

She sighed, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It ought to." He watched her eyes narrow. "You're looking at her fiancé."

For a few moments, there was heavy silence in the apartment. It seemed even the outside noise had gone mute. In her forehead, Sarah's blood pumped accentuating veins in her temples. "No."

"What?"

"No, no absolutely not. Toby you're twenty one years old, you are too young to get married." She could see it now, in five years, he'd be divorced, on her doorstep, asking if he can 'borrow' her guest room for a few months until he gets back on his feet.

"Illinois state law disagrees with you," he told her stubbornly.

"Well I bet her parents will agree with me. I'm sure they're rational people. What did you say her last name was?" Already she was at the phone, ready to call in a favor.

"I didn't." Her stern look told him he best just tell her what she wanted to know. "Farthingale, Sarah, but you're not going to have any luck."

"Farthingale isn't all that common of a name." As she continued to chastise him, her fingers dialed madly. "I don't think my friends in the records department will have a problem finding her parents for me."

"I can promise you there will be no number."

"We'll just see about that," she said while she listened to the ringing on the other end of the line.

Approaching her slowly, Toby pulled the phone from her ear and hung it up. "Sarah, her parents are dead," he told her somberly.

"So she needs someone to take care of her. Fine, move her in here for a month and then I'll decide if she's ready for marriage or not." Her brother laughed. "I'm serious Toby. You don't know how painful even the most agreeable divorce can be. Woman change a great deal in their late teens and early twenties, you'll wind up growing apart and then you'll be twenty-five, divorced, women who are attracted to you won't want to take the chance that something might be wrong with you and you'll always be the one they have a nice time with, but never the one they want to grow old with."

Warm arms embraced her, soft lips pressing through her raven mane. "I'm your brother sis, but bad marriages are not hereditary." Her energy seemed to sneak out her toes just then as she fell against him. "Besides, I can guarantee you none of that will happen."

"How?" she wiped the tears from her eyes. "How can you guarantee me a girl you barely know isn't going to want more from life when she grows up."

"For one, she's almost your age."

Sarah pushed out of her brother's arms and fell back into the waiting arms of her living room chair instead. "Well I guess you showed me, huh?"

"I have to admit," he told her while she was still stunned by the news, "this is not the reaction I was expecting."

"How did you expect me to react, Toby?"

He sat on the floor next to her, looking up at his sister's exasperated face. His hands gathered hers. "I guess, I thought you might be happy for me."

"Don't you think it's a bit of a rush? I mean it's only been six months." Sarah gasped, "You didn't get her in trouble did you?"

"No Sarah, no. God you sound like dad when he decided it was time to have _the talk_ with me."

"Well, look at you! You're barely old enough to shave." Freeing her hand she touched his face, "What do you know about being a husband honey?"

Up on his feet, the young man paced her apartment floor. "I know she's my best friend." Sarah groaned as he uttered the famous phrase she'd talked to Laney about over lunch. Mistaking her reaction for disappointment, Toby leaned over to kiss her forehead, "Second to my big sister of course. I know she makes me want to be a better person. She accepts me the way I am. I know I can't take for granted that she'll always be there and so every day I must find a way to show her how much I love her."

"And does she do that for you?"

"It's amazing Sarah. Every time she comes to my apartment she sneaks into my room and leaves a sachet on my pillow. It's this potpourri kind of mix that smells like cedar and her perfume. Sometimes, she'll beat me home, just so she can cook for me. Aaaah," he sighed. "She's an amazing cook. And children. Wherever we go, children are drawn to her. We'd like to have one of our own right away."

"Children? You two are talking children after only six months?"

Frustrated, Toby knitted his teeth emitting a noise low and rich in vibrato. "Would you please just attempt to not think the worst of her?"

"I don't see how I'm supposed to when I've never even met the woman who tricked my little brother into marrying her!"

"I was hoping you'd say that."

'Really,' she thought until he moved to face her. Then it was his broad smile that let her know she'd managed to fall right into his hands. "No, absolutely not! Toby, I'm too busy."

"Sunday. I was thinking lunch, but if dinner is better for you then we could switch."

"I have two cases to prepare for by the end of the week," Sarah said, eager to get out of the mess she'd fallen into.

Victoriously wringing his hands, Toby broadened his smile, "Perfect, then you won't need to work this weekend. Now I'll email you the directions. I've only been back and forth a few times. Rowan's been overseeing a lot of the refurbishing and the move." Sarah held her head. "A lot of the road names escape me," he went on. A skip joined his step as he gathered his keys to leave. "I'm going to stay at my apartment tonight and there's no phone at the new place yet, so when you get the directions, if you have questions, call my cell." A quick kiss on the cheek and Toby was letting himself out. Just before he left, he turned, looked at his sister with glassy eyes. "I'm so glad you changed your mind Sarah."

'Changed my mind,' she thought. When had she done that? With a resolved sigh, Sarah pressed her palms against her knees until she was standing. She cleared the pizza, recorked the wine, wiped down the glass, all like a character actor about to star in a zombie film. "Peotone?" she asked the walls disgustedly. "That's 40 miles away. I simply don't have time to travel that far. He'll understand. He's going to have to understand and what does he mean she's nearly my age?" Sarah pitched the dish cloth in her hand into the sink basin. "If she's so close to deaths door, what does he want with her? Women _my_ age shouldn't be having children anyway. Men don't want women my age," she went on as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, not from fatigue, from habit. "Or maybe it's not my age. I was still in my twenties when Tim left." She fell against the bed, fanning her arms over the chenille bedding. "Maybe it's just me," she resolved.

Concentrating on the high ceiling, Sarah allowed herself to become hypnotized by the subtle swirl in its texture, willing it to close in on her, confine her, make her feel safe. Interrupting her spell was the piercing rattle of the telephone ring. "Hello," she groused.

"Shantel, don't hang up."

The voice unfamiliar, she tried to correct him. "I'm sorry, b..."

"No Shantel. I'm sorry." He continued their exchange seemingly ignorant to the fact that she was not the one intended for his confession. "I shouldn't have given up on us baby. It's all my fault. I got scared."

A bit more of her mother lived in Sarah's soul than she cared to admit as she slipped seamlessly into character. "What makes you think Shantel didn't get scared too."

"Who is this?"

"Who is this?" she mimicked.

"This is Paul. Is Shantel there?"

"Listen Paul, the whole point of the ritualistic pairing of our species is so that we've got someone to share our fears with. Shutting Shantel out when she needed most to be let in, well, that was a fool's error." What was she doing giving advice to a complete stranger? "I'm sorry, I can't let you speak to Shantel."

"Why not? I only want to apologize."

"Well and good, but she's not here."

"Where is she?"

"I haven't a clue. I tried to tell you when you first rang you had the wrong number." In the crash of the receiver to the base, Sarah easily learned two things about the caller. First, he was angry. Second, he was calling from a pay phone. Assuming a bit, she imagined him well doused in alcohol, not drunk, probably his last thirty-five cents dropped in the slot to place the call, furious that his amends would have to wait to be made. In some way she might have helped, even if it was only to postpone his call until the whiskey had a chance to leave his blood stream.

"I've had enough of relationships for one day," she moaned as she slipped beneath the sheets of her bed, the only pairing concerning her as the clocks hands welcomed in a new day, being her subconscious and the sleep's seductive embrace.

* * *

Laptop making a 95 degree angle on her desk, Sarah's tired eyes scanned the captions of her received email. The name **Toby Williams** caught her eye. Grunting, she pressed the delete button, irritated with him for sending personal email to her work account. Having grown tired of superfluously reminding her assistant, she added a bit of dry creamer to the black coffee Annette felt compelled to bring her each morning. One by one, she eliminated the other useless transmissions, promises for sexual potency, adverts for low priced prescription medications, requests to verify accounts she didn't have, until nothing was left but the daily summary from the court and a concise message from her section head regarding the Weatherly file. It read simply, "Update?" 

Her fingers pounded the keys, each stroke saying, 'Were you to trouble yourself over the cases you pass down to the partners, you would damn well know the status of the Weatherly file, you pompous, arrogant...' but the screen read: "The Weatherly file is complete," only a tiny lie she reasoned. No more phony than his concern for the file was. "I'm giving it a quick review and will have it filed by lunch."

Plucking the file from the corner of the desk where she had left it the night before, she immediately got to work on the remaining exhibits. Why she told her boss she'd have it filed today was beyond her, but she had made herself an impossible goal and now she had to reach for it. Before she could even find the reference to the next exhibit in the Weatherly brief, her monitor pinged, indicating an incoming message. "Have your secretary bring it by before you file it, so I can sign off on it."

"Are you kidding me?" she screamed at the screen. "He wouldn't know a well read brief from his fruit of the looms!"

"Ms. Williams?" Nettie asked from the doorway. "Is there anything I can get you?"

Sarah silently listed any number of things which she would have liked to add to the coffee in her hand. "No Nettie. Just please hold my calls. I've got to finish this brief by lunch."

"The Weatherly brief?" Sarah nodded. "I thought that wasn't due until Friday?"

"Hold my calls, Nettie." she barked.

"Yes, Miss Williams," her secretary complied.

Irmscher was playing with her, pushing her buttons, calling her bluff. Sarah didn't respond well to being manipulated. Knowing what he was up to made her blood boil. She would be ready when he made his next power play. "I'll dance for you once," she told her mental image of him, "but the next time I hear music, you'll change to my tune."

Despite the probability of it, Sarah completed her task and at twenty after eleven took the nearly four inch brief to her secretary and asked her, more politely than she had in days, to deliver it to Attorney Irmscher. "Oh and Nettie," she said as she watched the woman head down the hall, "let me know what he says."

"Yes, Miss Williams."

Impatiently, she waited in her chair. Mentally unable to begin work on the Bartolomucci file, she stared out the window, nibbling like a gerbil on her nails. It couldn't have been more than 120 steps to Irmscher's office. 120 steps back. Three to five seconds actually in his office. Nettie should have been back before Sarah needed to start on her left hand. "Miss Williams," Nettie said when she popped in the door.

"What did he say?" she asked anxiously.

"Nothing miss, he was at lunch."

"Lunch?"

"Yes miss, he has a meeting with opposing counsel on the Cogburn Trial." That was the big end of the month hearing. "He won't be back until at least three."

"Mother fuck!" she slammed her hands against the arms of her chair. Nettie's eyes went wide as saucers. Without comment she back stepped out of her boss's office and shut the door. 'He did it just to screw with me,' Sarah told herself. 'He knew he wouldn't be there, he just wanted to push my buttons.' She brought up her personal email account and began composing an email to Laney. Feeling more rational after she'd clicked the send button, launching her expletive laced tirade into cyberspace, she checked her inbox. Toby had sent a message there too. The MapQuest directions went on for about two and a half pages.

The intercom activated before she could even follow them out of the city. "Miss Williams."

"Yes Nettie."

"It's Mr. Irmscher on your line."

"Thank you Nettie." Sarah cleared her throat. "Hello Mr. Irmscher. The Weatherly file is on your desk sir, whenever you get back." In her head she added, 'you bastard.'

"Wonderful Sarah. Wonderful. Say, I'm here at lunch with the sharks on the other side of the Cogburn case. They want to schedule an mediation for this weekend. I know I can count on you."

Switching her eyes back onto the monitor, Sarah slowly explained, "Ahhhh, I'm sorry Mr. Irmscher, shark diving is completely out of the question for me this weekend. My little brother is getting married and I've got to meet him in Peotone this weekend. I wish I could help you out, but my hands are tied."

"I understand," he lied. The entire tone of his voice changing. "Family does come first, I suppose." Their call ended abruptly.

Sarah couldn't believe it. She had finally found something worth going to Toby's for.

* * *

It was Wednesday before the Weatherly brief got filed. Irmscher never made a mark on it. If Sarah were to guess, she would have said with relative confidence he never even read the damned thing and if he had, he took great pains in replacing the binder clips, which held together the lengthiest exhibits, to their original positions and in gently turning the pages in a soft roll so as not to crease the corners where the staples rested. Sarah waited in the office until nearly nine that night when he was expected back by at least three, but he never returned. In fact, he didn't return until early afternoon on Wednesday and even then his only statement was a black flair OK on a two by one yellow post it on the top of the brief she spent two full days laboring over. No matter. When the brief had finally been approved, Sarah logged into the Illinois Civil Court Electronic Filing website and cursed her superior with every click that attached the brief and its exhibits to the record forevermore. 

Admittedly Sarah's anger stirred her so passionately that for a good number of hours Tuesday evening she performed some of her more mundane tasks, giving no attention at all to the Bartolomucci file. But, clicking the final post button to set the Weatherly brief in place renewed her spirit. In fact, she sent an email to Irmscher Thursday morning, saying she would like to review the Bartolomucci filing with him before she set it to record. When Sarah pushed send, she set the preferences to reply to her with a read receipt. And then she waited. Not that kind of occupied herself with other things while she waited sort of waiting, but that stare at the screen of her computer, daring not to blink sort, until a few minutes till two when the read receipt popped up in the lower right hand corner of her screen. Before he could click reply, Sarah was on her feet. Before his steely fingers could type out the first word of a reply, she scooped up the file. Just as he positioned his mouse pointer over the send button, Sarah knocked on his frosted office door.

With saccharin sweet overtones she exaggerated her glee. "Attorney Irmscher, I'm so glad you're in. I wanted to review the Bartolomucci brief with you. I know you OK'd the Weatherly file yesterday, but I don't want to provide just OK work for Sidley Austin, I want it to be perfect." Ah yes, they were playing her song even if it was only in her head. For the next four hours they mulled over the intricacies of the document while Sarah basically recreated it before his eyes. She asked inane questions, only to have them answered and consistently reply with, "That's what I thought and so," before she would point to her solution. In every instant it was either an exact match to his answer, or, twice she had managed to recall a more appropriate cite, or a better defense. Only then she was more than satisfied to close her lesson by asking, "Do you not agree with my choice?"

It was Irmscher's turn to be wise to her game. His eyes refused the stack of paper and held to her face as she went into her often lengthy justifications. Monotonous, "Yes, yes," concurrence spouting obligatorily from his dry, pursed lips. Until finally, as six o'clock had come and gone, he leaned back in his chair and concluded, "This is enough for one day, we'll finish tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? We've only got another half dozen exhibits. Why put off till tomorrow as they say. I mean, we did file the Weatherly brief early, wouldn't it be prudent to do the same with this one?"

"You intend to file this tonight?" he asked in disbelief of her commitment.

Sarah smiled innocently, "Indeed. It's the least I could do after all the effort you've put in." Staying was a waste of her time. She knew the brief was perfect, so much so she'd have held it together with a red silk ribbon rather than a rubber band if she could have. What mattered most, is that it was a waste of Irmscher's time and in the process a definitive statement to him about how much of her time was his and how much was her own.

It was past 9:30 when she returned to her office, a smile plastered to her lips as she recorded the brief, this time with less cursing and more praise, mostly for the filing system being available twenty-four hours a day and a little for herself, for standing up to Irmscher. There would be no arriving at dawn tomorrow, no staying until the sunset, rather she would stroll in at her normal hour, just as she had Monday.

* * *

True to her word, Sarah did not drag herself from her warm bed before the sun, but rather rolled over, well rested when the alarm sounded. Perhaps her sleep had not lasted a great number of hours, but the victory she had the night before blessed her with sweet fulfilling dreams. Fridays were casual around the office. Normally, Sarah didn't dress any differently, but she felt different today and so she reached into the normally forbidden depths of her closet and withdrew a pair of khaki slacks. They felt decadent when she slid her long legs inside. Over the cream tones of her cleavage enhancing bra, she pulled on a rayon salmon blouse. Tucking it neatly into her waistband, she threaded a thin snake skin belt through the loops of her trousers. Stepping back she admired the ensemble. When it came to the sandals, she debated for a little longer, uncertain she should push the envelope too far. Finally she settled on a leather cube heel that matched the belt, a little strappy duo with open toes. Not overly concerned with rushing to work, she took the time to match her toes to her blouse. 

Today she took Michigan to Madison, stopping at a Starbuck's along the way to pick up a couple coffees and an entire berry crumbcake. It wouldn't have mattered if the Osmonds had been piping into her headphones, the spring in her step would have been as visible as it was right now. The volume was just loud enough to hear, but it may as well have been the most happening night club for how amazingly light she felt. She was almost anxious to get to work. She doubled back onto Dearborn to Bank One. She couldn't help but notice the familiar eyes watching her as she made a beeline for the door eager to get inside before she gave him cause to approach her again, to assist her with one of her stray belongs, to monopolize her day with one of his rogue smiles. The revolving door swung enough to push a breeze into the foyer and catch the attention of the security guards.

"Everything alright Miss Williams."

"Fine," she stammered. "Just fine." From the elevator bank Sarah looked out through the malted glass. He was still there, staring strangely into the building, vexation in those once happy eyes. 'Good,' she thought. 'He was too damned happy anyway.' Another victory. Nothing could stop her. Practically two stepping onto the elevator, she felt as though she floated to her floor. Plopping down a venti café mocha on Nettie's desk, she sang her good mornings. "Just make sure I get a tiny piece," she instructed as she handed over the crumb cake.

"Yes, Miss Williams," her secretary agreed, pleased to see the return of the woman she'd interviewed with. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

For the first time this week, she was about to mean it when she said she was fine. Inside her office, Sarah rebooted the laptop she'd left overnight. When she phoned the cab she was well aware she wouldn't be working at home last night, there was no point in lugging it with her and back. It was going to be a good day, or so she allowed herself to believe. Few messages had come in over night. Weatherly and Bartolomucci had been put to bed. She could spend the day preparing for the Cogburn pre-trial in a way that would make her absence this weekend barely noticeable. Maybe she'd phone Laney and see if she wanted to visit Sumner this afternoon.

A generous slice of the berry crumbcake was brought to her on a three inch cake plate, earth tone simulated stone pattern forming a quarter inch band along the edge. Accepting it from Nettie, Sarah kicked her feet on to the corner of her desk. "Beautiful sandals, Miss Williams."

In mock anger, she groused, "Nettie, do you think you could call me Sarah?"

"Are you sure Miss Williams? Most attorneys prefer a more formal relationship with their secretaries."

"Sure they do. Until they convince them to stay late one night, nudge them into the supply closet, and persuade them over a stack of copy paper while their wives are at home tucking in their minor children. Well, Nettie. I'm never going to do that to you. So go on and call me Sarah."

"Yes, Sarah."

"And Nettie, while we're being honest with one another. My coffee." The secretary reached for the white cardboard cup, her long fingers wrapping around the corrugated heat protection band. "No Nettie, when you make my coffee. I really prefer it with cream."

"So noted."

"Thank you."

"Thank you, Miss...Sarah."

Swinging her legs off the desk and scooting to the window, she looked down at the people hurrying about. Automatically she wondered about the mystery man she had seen twice this week now. His presence seemed less coincidental now that she had seen him on more than one occasion. When it seemed she would get caught up in the redundant thought of him, she turned her attention back to the waiting Cogburn files.

It was the kind of case she hated. Around the office they called them bankruptcies gone bad. It should have been a simple Chapter 13, but something, somewhere, well before the file was set on Sarah's desk, went wrong and the mode switched from forms and predictable patterns to pleadings and chaos, a Mortgage Foreclosure. At first glance, it looked like Cogburn was a pretty decent guy, small business man, doing his best. Maybe he had a bad year, took a hit in the stock market, suffered in the new economy, or perhaps his trade had been replaced by automation. Having never met him, Sarah knew better than to ever assume that a debtor turned defendant was fully innocent. There was probably some blame to be placed on him, if she was to draft a convincing pre-trial statement for her lender, she had to believe that.

"Miss Cass on your line," the intercom announced when Sarah had done little more than copy the caption from the court's website.

"Thank you," she replied before lifting the receiver and greeting her good friend.

"You sound better than I've heard you in days," Laney observed.

"I feel better," Sarah admitted, closing her laptop and spinning in her chair. "Remind me to tell you about my last brief."

"Does that mean you're up for lunch today?"

"Sure, but no Cheesecake Factory."

There was some groan of disappointment on Laney's end, but eventually she conceded. "Where do you want to meet then?"

"Why don't you come up here and we'll figure it out."

"Alright, I'll be there at twenty after."

"Twenty after, what happened to 11:30?"

"If you don't have anything in mind Sarah, we're going to need time to figure it out."

And people had the nerve to call her rigid. "Come whenever you're ready, that's fine." Replacing the phone to it's cradle, she noticed the smile which she couldn't seem to wipe from her face. What was that strange twitter in her chest?

* * *

True to her promise, Laney arrived in the foyer of Bank One Plaza at precisely at 11:20. Sarah emerged from the elevator banks a few minutes later than that, true to her attempt to break Laney of her obsessive tendencies. "Where are we eating?" she asked first off when Sarah joined her. 

"Don't care," Sarah admitted when they got outside. With little regard for her lunch companion and less for the selection of cuisine, the young attorney looked about, swiftly flicking her glance from left to right.

Positioning herself directly before Sarah, she stabilized her shoulders before asking, "Did you invite me here for lunch?" It was the attempt at innocence that made her seem even more guilty. "Sarah," she moaned. For as remarkable a body as Laney had, she lived to eat far more than she ate to live and God had graced her with the metabolism to do so.

"We'll, eat, we'll eat, I just wanted to see if there was anyone here."

"And by anyone you wouldn't happen to mean a certain little coat checker from earlier this week, would you?"

Sarah snatched her at the elbow and shuffled her closer to the building's exterior wall. "Sssshhh!"

"I see, I'm missing out on avocado eggrolls because you're horny."

"Laney!" A hot pink rose in the apples of Sarah's cheeks. "I am not horny," she mumbled a whisper. "There's a great little sandwich shop on Michigan, we'll get something in that stomach of yours and maybe you won't be so irritable."

"I'd say the same for you, but I don't think there's a sandwich for that sort of thing."

Looking embarrassed, Sarah dragged her in the direction of the deli. A small table in a back corner was available. There they sat, nibbling away on some wheat wraps, turkey with honey mustard for Sarah, ham and Swiss with dijonnaise for Laney. "So you saw him again this morning?"

"Yes, when I came in at my usual time, he was at almost the same spot from Monday. You don't suppose he's, you know, keeping track of me."

"Stalking you?" Laney asked, jutting out her tongue to lap up a dollop of mustard from the corner of her lips.

"Well no, not stalking. I mean, stalking," her head cocked to the side, "stalking? Do you really think stalking?"

Laney shook her head in reply. "I'm sure you two just have similar schedules."

"Right. We probably start at the same time."

"He might shuttle, that might be his stop?"

"Right, his stop." Her disinterest in supposition evident by the far away look in her eyes.

Slurping down the last of her Cherry Coke, Laney asked, "You're not going to spend the next week trying to run into this guy are you?"

"No," she hid her smile by raising her napkin to her lips, "not trying."

"Seriously Sarah, come out with us this weekend. I think it's just what you need."

"I would, but I promised Toby I'd come and meet his girlfriend."

"Toby has a girlfriend," Laney choked on the ice cube she'd been chewing.

Sarah waved her hand over her shoulder, "It's only been six months."

"Still, I had the biggest crush on him when we were kids."

"Oh come on." She threw a few small bills on the table. "No sister wants to hear that."

"Don't be so old fashioned Sarah, age isn't that big of a deal once you're over twenty-five."

She snickered. "Apparently, Toby's fiancé is my age."

"Fiancé!" Thank God she didn't have another ice cube to choke on. "Three seconds ago she was just a girlfriend."

"Girlfriend, fiancé, neither's permanent."

"When's the wedding?"

"If there's a wedding."

Laney shook her head. "Must you always be so pessimistic?"

"A wife's no more permanent, my dear friend." Sarah reached out for her hand and gave it a reassuring pat as her companion stared idly at the table top. "I'm just being realistic."

"Well you ought to try fantasizing a little more often."

"I don't believe in fantasy, Laney. I haven't for a long time."

* * *

Ferrari or not, Peotone was still forty miles outside of the city and forty miles could vary by as much as an hour's travel time depending upon the time of day and schedule of events. Sarah was still within sight of the Hancock after almost an hour. In a moment of absolute gridlock her forehead fell to the steering wheel as she groaned. Reaching beneath the seat, she plucked out a cd case tucked under there. Her fingers fumbled with the pages, finally settling for the first thing she could manage as it slid around on the passenger side. Slowly, the silver disc was sucked into the dash. When she heard the first note, her error washed over her like cold and stinging rain. 

Another life ago, or so it seemed, when Timothy first left, one of the summer interns gave her this CD. She flipped it between her fingers like a baton. In all capital letters across the bottom, he'd written "RECOVERY MIX". Proclaiming he'd finally made it to the point in his post-marriage, yes, he called it post-marriage, because he wanted to use a more positive term, which divorce clearly was not, regardless, he was at the point he no longer required its comfort. Vividly she remembered thinking the idea of a CD providing comfort was completely ridiculous. But in an odd way, it did just that.

Perhaps she'd reached that point in her post-marriage where she needed to stop being so damned cynical when it came to relationships or maybe she did need to just spend a little more time not at the office, either way, the CD had done something important for her. She was smiling, almost anxious to see her brother and a little less worried about meeting Rochelle, or whatever her name was.

Cautiously, her right forefinger depressed the cream colored, dime sized button just to the right of the stained oak door. Through the crisscross molding over the glass, Sarah saw her brother practically running to greet her. "Sarah," he said as if he hadn't expected her, only to contradict himself, "You're late. Everything OK?"

"Fine Toby, fine. Traffic in the city, lord knows over what this time."

"You look good sis," to which she rolled her eyes, stopping them just in time to look doubtfully up at her brother. "Really. Come on in. Rowan's not here yet. She had some errands to run after work."

'Rowan,' she repeated in her head, making an effort to memorize it. Entering Toby's new home, Sarah tried not to be critical, but the place was barely bigger than her apartment. "It's cozy," she remarked, her lips only partially curled.

"I know it's not much," he recognized, "but it'll do nicely for a first home. Three bedrooms, for us, guests, whoever comes along." Toby grinned as he mentioned the amount of space. Desperate not to show her irritation, Sarah forced a smile. "Come on sis, I'll give you the full tour." Beginning upstairs, the proud new home owner showed her the master bedroom and the master bath. Both together were barely bigger than Sarah's master bath back in the city. The second and third bedrooms, the second bath, all less than fifty square feet. On the first floor he noted the kitchen, with it's fresh new custom wood cabinetry and built in buffet. Recessed lighting gave it a warm glow, while a small pantry gave him plenty of storage. A fireplace was the focal point of his living room where track lighting took over. The dining room was tiny, room for four at best, but the crystal chandelier made it seem formal. A small powder room sacrificed the bulk of what could have been its space to house a washer and dryer. The basement was finished. It would have made a good game room, Sarah thought, but Toby explained that they had planned to turn it into a craft and research room.

"Research?" she asked.

"Yes," Toby confirmed. "Rowan loves to study things, figure them out, how they work and so forth. Why practically before we closed on the house she'd already done her research on Peotone, discovering it had been named for an Indian chief who formerly roamed the area and that its rough translation meant, good place to live."

"Isn't that...nice."

Despite the honest effort, Sarah put forth. Toby could see she how much she struggled. Leading her away, he managed to conclude the tour by taking her out through the attached garage, for which they had no car, and back in through the four seasons room, accessible also, through a sliding glass door off the dining room. "So what do you think?" he asked wearily, the way one asked for truth from a cheating lover.

"It doesn't matter what I think, Toby as long as you're happy with it."

"You hate it," he assumed throwing his hands up.

"I don't hate it," she half lied. "I just don't see why you went out and bought a house so fast."

Gently, Toby encouraged Sarah to sit with him on the sofa. "If you hate it..."

"I don't hate it," this time Sarah's voice was sharp and short. Surprised herself, the next words exchanged between brother and sister were significantly milder. "I worry." It left her lips simply enough, an odd confession, a rigid admission of her deepest feelings, of emotions she preferred to keep locked deep inside. The air between them seemed to grow magnetic, drawing them closer together, narrowing what had been a spacious gap. Sarah reached her hands up for her brother's face. "I worry," she repeated. "You've never been on your own, not totally and you're only going to be twenty two in a few weeks, what if something happens. Something unexpected, something awful."

"I've always survived before." Toby held his sister to him, the quaking in her rib cage, very real, very rapid.

"You've always had me."

"Am I going to lose you, sis?" He pushed her back and looked into her swimming eyes. "I appreciate everything you've done, everything. But you can stop being a mother now. Rowan and I are in this together and I always know I can count on my big sister when I need to. You don't have to worry," he reassured her, smoothing back the hair stuck in the moisture on her cheeks.

"You don't understand, do you?" she asked rhetorically, caressing his cheek. He had grown into a handsome man. Whoever Rowan was, she was only a woman at the most basic level and no woman wouldn't be smitten by his smile, his eyes, his build, but she hoped this woman he had chosen saw deeper, into his compassionate heart that had been bruised and battered, and more so, she prayed that Rowan treated it with kid glove care. His hair was still as soft between her fingers as she ever remembered it being. "You were the only child I have ever known. When dad and Karen brought you home..."

"You hated me," he cut her off with a smile.

Giving a tug on his hair, she reaffirmed that it was less hate than it was an inability to appreciate him, but with time that changed. "Perhaps, I took you for granted, but don't you see, I grew to love you. In a place in my heart where I housed very indifferent feelings for you something happened. I made a very conscious effort to love you Toby, and that should mean something."

"Was that before or after you wished me away?"

"I told you that was a dream." Sarah turned away from him.

Toby grabbed her shoulders. "Come on, I'm kidding. Overactive imagination, remember?"

"Yeah well your overactive imagination got me grounded a whole hell of a lot."

"I did know how to play mom and dad pretty good I suppose." His lips pressed against her temple. "You did right by me sis, you always did right by me."

"Did I Toby? Did I?" she asked him, her face soaked and stained by tears. Both silent, they stared at one another, most likely sharing the same memory. The first few months after the accident were sketchy. Toby was angry and confused, but by the end of that first year he'd adjusted well enough, better than most fourteen year olds.

Robert and Karen were taking their second honeymoon. They planned a trip to Paris, 10 days, lay overs in London, red eye flights. Karen had made the arrangements, thinking Robert incapable. It seemed almost impossible to forget, a phone call at 3:30 am on a Thursday morning in June followed by a 6:15 flight to New York so she could settle the details. The crash left them with no bodies to morn. Sarah had two large oil portraits of Robert and Karen made for the funeral mass and as her stepmother would have wanted it, plenty of flowers all about. Toby sat motionless, but for when she tried to touch him, then he'd turn and wrench from her grasp. Until the night of the wake, after everyone left. Sarah was tidying up things, when she heard the tiniest whimper. Turning she found he brother, staring at her, sobbing.

Timothy was gone, left after four years of marriage. Not necessarily good years, but not bad years by any stretch. Ordinary years, mature years. They managed to tuck away a good bit of cash and Timothy wanted very much to have a child. Sarah rarely spent a night undisturbed the last two years of their marriage as he fiercely attempted to succeed in impregnating her. Fate had a funny way of working. Maybe they knew, the fates, that Tim and Sarah were doomed, and maybe that was why they never gave her a child. Maybe they knew Sarah had married a man who was incapable of igniting her soul and thus gave them this obstacle to send them in separate directions knowing neither of them would have the heart to leave a perfectly fine situation, even if something better awaited them. Either way, Toby was all Sarah had left. She sunk to her knees, allowing the boy to tower over her. She'd been staying strong for him, or maybe the other way around, but as they let the pain flow from them, they both revealed a vulnerable side. When he finally collapsed into her arms, Toby wailed like an infant. Sarah held him tenderly, rocking him softly in her arms, her lips to his forehead, her tears rolling over his crown. "It'll be alright, baby. It's all going to be alright," she lied again and again.

When she brought him back to Chicago, it was the clean start they both needed. The animosity, the opposition of all those years as siblings melted away. All that Sarah had left of her father was in Toby and she did her best to nurture it. Karen's mouth remained, but by the grace of God, Karen's words did not come from it and Karen's heart did not lie beneath. Every morning she cooked for him, every night she cooked for him, after dinner she toiled over Calculus, Biology, Government, until she felt like a mother. As fiercely as any parent's protectiveness flared in her spine and when they needed someone they leaned fully on one another. She nursed him through heartache and taught him to drive, motivated him to succeed. He graduated, valedictorian of his school, giving a moving and powerful speech about losing his parents and crediting his sister for pulling him through. Her heart swelled. Two years of college and he was working entry level with a publisher's company. A few good finds and he was quickly promoted. He was fair. He was honest.

And so, Sarah believed him when he said she had done right by him, even if she thought she should have done better. "I just want you to have everything you deserve."

"Rowan is more than I deserve, sis and this house, it reminds me of home. Comfortable, but cozy. It's all I've ever wanted."

That was true. He never much had the taste for the luxuries of life that Sarah acquired. "I know, I know," she grumbled grinding the moisture from her eyes. "Now which way is that powder room again. I'd like to not look like this when I meet my future sister in law."

* * *

Rejoining her brother in his living room, a tall amber haired woman waltzed gracefully into her path. "You must be Sarah?" Immediately she embraced the dumfounded sibling, "It is so good to finally meet you. Toby has told me so much about you, I just couldn't have started planning our wedding without you." 

Only half heartedly Sarah returned the embrace, "Yes well, I am Sarah." Her irritation was more than obvious, causing Rowan to step back. "Shall we sit?" Sarah took a chair as Rowan snuggled close in against her brother, craning her neck so that her lips could graze his cheek.

"Forgive me," Toby said "Sarah, this is my fiancé Rowan, Rowan, my sister Sarah."

"More than a sister my sweet. Toby tells me you were sister, parent, friend and storyteller all the same."

"My brother exaggerates the roles I played for him."

"I do not. You cared for me always," he glanced out the corner of his eye, a broad smile speaking to Rowan in a language they'd developed merely by knowing each other, "that is why," he continued, "I would like you to be our witness for the wedding."

"What?" Sarah asked shocked. "You don't mean to suggest you're having a civil ceremony."

Rowan was quick to reply, "Quite the contrary, we don't necessary want anything as formal as a religious ceremony and so your dear brother has agreed to a more simple event in a beautiful patch of wood not far from here where we'll have a simple blessing, for which we require only one witness to be legal and binding. With your parents being gone, and we, having no family, but each other, I couldn't imagine asking anyone else to hold the position."

"I still have a mother," Sarah shot back, not at all impressed with the way in which Rowan had integrated deeply into her family.

"A mother who in as long as I have been alive hasn't once made the trip to see you, has no more connection with you but for letters and the occasional collect call."

"And still more mother to me than Karen ever was," Sarah shot back. Each hurt equally by the scathing remark of the other. "Is that it?" she asked after a deep silence. "Did you leave one mother figure in search of another?"

Silently, Rowan had left the room and now returned, a tray of tea perched on her forearms. "I think we all need to relax just a bit. I humbly beg your forgiveness dear sister..."

"Could we call me Sarah for now?" she snapped.

"Dear Sarah, then. I should have chosen better words to express your importance to your brother and therefore to me. We only wish for you be part of our happiness." Rowan went on to pour them each a cup of black currant tea, which they sipped in silence, until after some time, Toby broke that silence.

"Why are you so against our marriage?"

"I'm not," Sarah replied.

Toby snorted, "Could have fooled me. There was a day I had hoped for your approval, but for now I would ask only for your happiness, if not your true happiness, then happiness for me at the least."

"You're right," his sister conceded, "but then let me pay for it."

"No, Sarah! I...we...couldn't."

"You can and you will. Dad and Karen left me everything Toby, if I promised to take care of you. It paid your college, it paid your wants and still there is plenty left to pay for this wedding, and what it does not, I will. I have no one else to shower with generosity, who better than my brother."

"You do too much."

"I could never do enough to repay what you've done for me." He moved to embrace her.

"Settled then, where shall we go for dinner. I'm afraid my being late has left us very little time to cook," Rowan observed.

"We'll never all fit in the Ferrari," she protested.

Toby winked, "I'll squeeze in somewhere."

"No, I'll feel like a third wheel. Let's order in," Sarah suggested.

Toby chuckled. "It's not like the city Sis. There's not any of a dozen delivery joints on every block. You should find yourself a date, then we could double."

"I'll be sure enough to find someone by the wedding," she smarted.

"I hope you have someone in mind," Rowan said as she cleared away the tea.

"Why's that?"

Her brother wrapped his arm around Sarah guiding her to the car, "We're being married on the 25th of June."

"The day of the crash?"

"I want the most positive event of my life to overshadow the most negative," he protested definitively. "Now haven't you had any dates recently?"

Sarah looked up at him with daggers in her eyes. "I haven't had a date in seven years, Toby. You know that, you lived with me."

"Oh that'll never do," he said opening her door and shuffling her inside. "You should have dates at your age."

"Shut up Toby," Sarah's head shook, her hand hiding her curved lips, "just shut up."


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

From his position high in the castle, Jareth watched her attempting to negotiate the Labyrinth. After a few minutes of contemplation beneath the dead tree at the top of the hillside, the wretched mortal made her way down, her footprints marking the unbroken amber surface. While the architecture easily caught her eye, the acid liquid in the fountain, held no interest for her. Her true goal lay before her. Improvements made within the labyrinth meant it was no longer necessary to hide the doors, in fact it was better to have them out in the open. Prying them back, she had warily slid inside. Currently the girl was listening attentively to the door guards as they presented their riddles to her.

"One door leads to certain death," said the blue guard of the right door.

The other added, "and one leads to almost certain death."

"Dun dun dah!" they sang in unison.

"What's the difference?"

"Which difference?" a second head popped out from behind the shield of the red guard.

"The difference between certain death and almost certain death." she replied.

"Oh, that's simple," the blue guard chuckled.

A second head popped out from beneath his shield as well. "Certain death happens immediately. Where as almost certain death implies there's still a chance for you to survive for a little longer anyway."

"Well which of you is which," she asked impatiently. Most of them forgot all about the child at this point and ran back the way they thought they'd come only to meet with a dead end or some unsavory creature.

Together they pointed to the guards above the shields, meekly admitting, "We can't tell you."

"Well that hardly seems fair."

"It's not," the first guard continued. "But we can tell you this. One of us always tells the truth and one of us always lies."

"Well which is which?" she asked again a bit more sternly.

The left guard laughed again. "Can't tell you that either."

Jareth watched on to see how she would next respond. "Well then, seeing as how death seems a certainty at any rate," she decided, unbelieving made evident by her tones, "I may as well just rely on luck. If it's all the same to you," she told the guard on the right, "I'd like to choose this door."

"By all means," he sidestepped and through she went, announcing loudly on the other side hat she had done it. Safe and sound.

That was when the floor separated and she dropped into the shaft of hands. There were some stunned cries which split through the labyrinth as she shrieked, but finally she came to rest with a dozen pairs of hands suspending her. "Do you mind!" she struggled.

"No, do you?" a face puppet near her knee inquired.

"Yes, actually!" Releasing their grip, the hands let her fall another several feet before catching her up in their grasp once more. "What are you doing?"

Another face puppet, this one just to her left, replied, "We're helping. We're helping hands."

"Helping? Someone's got their palm square on my backside. Exactly what were you helping yourselves to?" Her response must have amused the lot because the shaft filled with uproarious commotion.

Another face puppet, this one with a particularly broad nose, asked in a deep boom which halted the shenanigans of the other faces, "Which way would you like to go?"

She'd fallen quite a distance, probably closer to the bottom than the top now and time being short as it was, she closed her eyes and guessed, "Down, I suppose."

"SHE CHOSE DOWN! SHE CHOSE DOWN? SHE CHOSE DOWN!"

The words echoed all around her, starting and ending in a scattered pattern like three part harmony. "Was that wrong?" she shouted.

"Too late now," she heard one of the faces reply.

"Indeed," Jareth agreed. It seemed much further than she'd anticipated and the king waited patiently until the tips of several sharp spikes tore through various sections of her flailing form. Her cry was low, short and composed only of her final breath. "Such a pity." The blood that fled from her wounds was an amorous red, plentiful in supply. Slipping the crystal back into his pocket, the Goblin King came down from the window ledge, poured himself a tumbler of brandy and settled into one of the wing back chairs in his master suite. "That's one more goblin mouth to feed."

* * *

What surrounded him was nothing like his former castle. On occasion, Jareth missed the haphazard lopsided pile of stones the mortal girl had brought crumbling down around him. Finishing his drink, he pitched the glass into a large fireplace, smirking as the flames temporarily grew, fed by the residual alcohol still clinging to the glass. His head fell back, eyes closed, trying to recall what it had been like then.

Toby remained unharmed, albeit trapped in his room of deceptive angles and staircases to nowhere, but still, the king could have done far worse to the babe, far worse. Certainly the child didn't seem nearly as troubled by being Underground, as did the thoughtless, thankless teen who'd wished him away. In fact, Toby had rather been enjoying himself while in his care, Jareth thought. His sibling on the other hand, was a different story in the altogether. She wasn't enjoying the labyrinth at all, at least not as Jareth had hoped.

Beneath his breath he cursed himself for allowing it to happen, opening himself to her, baring his heart when he should have bared his teeth. What it was about the girl making him so susceptible to her he couldn't have guessed. She wasn't extraordinary in a physical sense. Raven hair, green eyes, porcelain skin, evident her beauty would grow as did the shell it adorned, but this was true with most mortal woman. It was her spirit that separated her from the others who ran the labyrinth. While they whined at him, cried until their eyes were swollen and red, all sorts of useless ploys, she stood strong to him, an even match, a worthy opponent. Where others turned and hid beneath the imaginary safety of a well made cotton sheet, she stepped out of her world only to dominate his.

Each obstacle he presented her, she made short work of, even when her own arrogance got the better of her, she overcame it. The mortal world called it a hindrance, and his maze was designed to challenge arrogance in anyone but it's king, to Jareth the trait made her all that much more appealing. Even when he faced her on his own, despite how charming he knew he could be, she managed to remain focused on her goal, getting back the child she'd asked him to take in the first place. She bested him and with relative ease at that.

He came to her in white then, a color of surrender, admitting she had won the battle. She could have the child back, but that wasn't the reward anymore. No the stakes had grown. It was her he desired now, more than any new goblin, more than every changeling he'd created since his coronation. Just fear me, love me, do as I say. That was all he asked of her. Was that so much? After all, look at what he'd offered her in return. Her dreams, his servitude, she could have had it all with one simple word, yes. Rather it was Sarah Williams, of all the young, impressionable girls who would have gladly slunk to their knees at even half such an offer, who stood toe to toe with him at his most vulnerable and remained unwavering. Refused her dreams, unaffected by the look of desperation his eyes conveyed so strongly all while searching her mind for the phrase she would mutter, the one phrase that would force him to set her free. "You have no power over me."

For some time, Jareth had kept watch over her. After the initial pain subsided, the initial shock faded. Forgiveness is a funny thing. It seemed when you fought your hardest to keep it banished from your heart, it slid in quite easily. With time, his hatred turned to admiration. His rage to make the labyrinth a place of death and destruction became little more than knee jerk reaction to love's rejection. By her window, he sat, listening intently to conversations which transpired over that damned Scrabble board. Jareth knew he remained on her mind, if not in her heart. He'd heard her, his name coming from her lips so very much like music, he often forgot to listen for the words which followed.

Eventually there came a time when upon arriving at her window his creatures were gone. No wooden tiles face down on the hunter green folding card table, instead, mortal girls clamoring about in their under things and giggling at this and that or sobbing at some rented video. Jareth, his world, his creatures, all forgotten. Nothing more than a dream, a snowy white owl she'd seen at the window, probably not even a majestic bird of prey, more likely a trick of lights. Over the years her vision of him had boiled down to just that. A trick of the lights played on a fantasy stricken child late in the evening. "To hell with her," the king muttered, now near sleep. "To hell with her and the rest of the mortals."

Struggling, he shoved himself out of the chair and made his way to the bed. All formality evaded him, his weariness the king's only concern. The knee-high leather boots he'd had on all day remained on. The duvet remained pressed beneath the many decorative pillows. His lithe and lengthy form stretched atop the satin bedding. If it had been his castle from twenty years ago, he'd have slept where he lie, but things were different now, there were expectations for him.

Gone were the days of lounging himself in the throne and watching the goblins do as they would. Letting the labyrinth take care of itself. Waiting for the occasional summoning. Suddenly, it had become all doublets and waistcoats, wait staff and chefs, menus and wine with dinner. It wasn't that he meant to complain, on the contrary. It was a welcome change at the start, even made him feel a bit better, but eventually he missed the beauty of being alone. The Goblin King had made himself quite clear when he commanded in the midst of dinner, no one or thing should be anywhere near him when he returned from the above world. At first he didn't even think he'd watch the girl, after all, the last five people to summon him, didn't even bother crossing over into his world. Odds were this one wouldn't either. Intrigued when he felt her pierce the veil between the worlds, Jareth couldn't resist having a look.

His castle wasn't the only thing to undergo an overhaul. Everything about his kingdom had changed, from his chambers to the furthest walls of the Labyrinth. What he had before may not have been shining, spectacular, full of gems and riches, but it was his. Suited to him, with his odd, semicircular throne and the stone molded ribbons affixed to the walls so the rabble rousing goblins would have a place to join him. Sure, there was a bit of hay on the floors and a few stray chickens here or there. No one complained.

The Goblin City may not have been luxurious, but it was more advanced than most. The concept of a working class having their own homes was not one which caught on. Welcoming them into the castle was even less heard of. Surely he'd been the first to give them free access to the ale barrels. Even Jareth would admit that became a decision he had begun to regret. But he'd always tried to run a progressive, albeit laid back ship, but if he was to command any real respect, if he were to stop the mortals from overtaking their world, that had to change as well.

Once she'd left, before he'd had a chance to be glad she was gone, the king had given his goblins a generous amount of time in which to repair the castle and improve the labyrinth. They did their best, but while they were good masons, they lacked imagination and creativity enough to have done little more than brick together one large room, thatch a ceiling onto it and call it a castle. It was far from a castle. It was barely inhabitable to anyone more than four foot tall. And the labyrinth, Jareth had requested deadly. They'd given him dangerous at best. More so than ever before anyway, but fate had a surprise in store for him.

It sounded cliche to say it began on a dark and stormy night, but that doesn't escape the fact that was precisely how it had begun. Thunder crashed against the curtain of night, chattering rain nearly drowning out the sound of his gentle rapping against the castle door. Though, when the king attempted to recall the exact date, his usually remarkable memory failed him consistently, even so, he remembered everything about the day.

Lounging in his throne, goblins at his feet, Jareth felt particularly fed up with the speed at which his improvements were being made, or, as it were, the lack of speed. His only form of amusement derived from swatting at a passing goblin. Before long he'd discovered the crop gave him another eighteen inches of reach. Boredom seemed to have buried his rage. No other morals had called on him, not for months and things were beginning to feel like they had before she'd come. That should have been his first clue.

"Go and answer it," he told one of the creatures round his feet when the monotonous connection between wood and knuckle would not cease. It took four of them, just to answer the door. Jareth dropped his head into his hands, realizing now why in all this time they'd managed to make only one room.

"Your majesty," one cried as they came running back before the king and bowing. The others who'd gone to assist him, came running in and slammed into his backside, knocking the lot to the ground.

Swishing his crop, the Goblin King barked, "Who is it?"

The biggest and most sluggish of the group, a lumbering goblin with a deep, slow voice replied, "We don't know."

"Useless," the king muttered walking over them to answer his own door. "Whatever it is you're looking for, I haven't got any and I don't want any more." The door swung open when his boot smashed against it.

At his feet was a bloodied, beaten man, barely kneeling, hardly able to speak. "Please," the only word he was able to grunt forth. Elegantly dressed, his coat a fine red, pray, not stained that way, Jareth mistook him for a soldier from the raids. His ebony hair was stained with blood, matting it to his cheeks and forehead, obscuring his features for the most part. A sharp whistle and the king's goblins helped the man inside.

"Take him to a bed," at the freedom afforded by the command, half the creatures supporting the man's weight hastened left, the others hastened right, attempting to split him in two. "Stop!" Jareth shouted. "Take him to my bed, lie him down gently and call for the healer," he detailed for the goblins' sake.

It took the passing of several days and nights under the capable and constant care of the healer for improvement to show, but on the fifth morning, When the king awoke, still slung in his throne, he found their guest sitting upright in his bed, color returned to his cheeks, finally. "I see you've improved," Jareth said as he made his way to the sleeping area.

"Quite, I should say," the patient responded. "Is it you I have to thank for this hospitality?"

Cleaned up, Jareth could better see the barely brown, nearly amber eyes which sometimes hid behind the loose, lengthy curls of coal black hair, full and ruffled which Jareth could respect. His eyes blazed with a band of gold, previously obscured by the dried blood. It made him look very serious and stern, but refuted the Goblin King's analysis of his enrollment in the armies. "No thanks required. One does what one can for his fellow kind."

"Still with so little of your own," the guest motioned about the large but shabby dwelling, "it was most generous of you to see to my recuperation."

"So little? Surely you know who I am?" His delicate eyes grew hard, narrowing on him. "Sir I am Jareth, King of the Goblins and you are recuperating in the very heart of the Underground. I must insist you show a better respect."

"I too am a king," he laughed, "well, was a king. Arven, King of the Mines, your grace, at your service." From his seated position he dipped his head in lieu of a proper bow, humbled before the king.

"King of the Mines you say. Would those be the ore mines east in Welderton, the gem mines west in Kindredare or the quarry south in Mestering."

"You fail to inquire about the northern mines, sire."

"So I do. Suffice it to say, I well know the king of the northern mines, so then which is it?" Surely he knew the king of the northern mines, for they were the diamond mines, once run by a beautiful queen, a fair skinned, fair haired, magnificent, arrogant queen, who he himself had chased a few times through the labyrinth when they were children. Queen Annacuin, his sister. She was a cry older than he, but they got on well enough, for siblings. When she passed, her son Eldamonde took the throne. But even ruined, Jareth was a wiser sort than to blurt forth his family's business

"The gem mines then. They were once mine, until the mortals found what riches lie in our Underground," Arven pronounced.

"Mortals?" Jareth questioned. "The mines make no dealings with the mortals."

"Not as ordinary course," Arven explained, "But as it were we came to find that they take great value in all those precious and semi-precious stones my diggers turn up. We thought, if we were able to use what is otherwise a trifle to our people to trade for their overlooking of our kind then perhaps our lands would be more peaceful than they have been of late."

"You meant to buy your way out of the raids."

"In short," the former king admitted, "although our intentions were better than that assessment makes them sound."

"What happened?"

"The mortals grew wise and curious and, as is often the case with mortals, greedy. Before long they crossed the veil, bought off the diggers, emptied the mines, slaughtered anything that got in their way. Those who formed allegiance to them turned against me. They'd been convinced that I," here he gestured to his chest, a wash of pain staining his pale face, "had enslaved them. That justice would come in treating me the way I treated them."

"So it was your diggers who bloodied you?"

"They managed a good lashing, your highness, but the credit for most of my injuries belongs to your labyrinth."

"You managed the labyrinth?" Jareth crossed his arms over his chest.

"Let's be honest, your maze isn't what it once was."

"Perhaps, but the goblins have been making upgrades and..."

"And," he concluded without the king's consent. "It's still not much of a challenge to an immortal. When my kingdom was in ruin. I fled, hoping they wouldn't be brazen enough to follow me into the labyrinth. Which, bless the spirits, they were not. For a time I hid safely, until your creatures began to sense me and that would account for most of my injuries. Mercifully I had just enough magic left to make it to your doorstep. More mercifully, you took me in. Now I am like you, a king without a kingdom."

"I wouldn't lump us into the same category so quickly," Jareth snapped. "The goblins and I have not yet begun rebuilding the labyrinth. When we do I shall have a kingdom, one exponentially more fine than I had."

"Beg pardon, your majesty. I didn't mean to imply..."

"Silence."

"While I'm pointing out all of your fallacies, let me inform you, Arven, these diggers of yours. They were not quite so modest as you might have expected. In fact they did make their way into the labyrinth, a far ways in, actually and in their wake, they left a fair amount of devastation.. It surprises me you didn't encounter them in your journey."

"As it surprises me, your majesty. Let me assure you I meant only to facilitate my own escape and humbly beg your forgiveness for any harm caused to you or your kingdom. If, your majesty would allow it, I would gladly stay in your command until the kingdom is rebuilt to your precise specifications."

Jareth extended his gloved hand. Arven seemed willing enough to help, after all, and it was his duty to make right. Though the Goblin King planned on having ultimate authority for everything that was done.

It seemed by the next morning the battered ex-king had been returned to his full strength. Over breakfast they discussed what Jareth wanted, Arven joining on his desire to make the labyrinth a deadly lair. Infusing it with his own hatred for mortals, he managed to not only contribute heavily to the modifications, but to fuel Jareth's anger again, until the idea of causing as much pain and loss in the above world seemed nothing more to him than justice for the lives the mortals had taken without thought or care. Jareth's own blood with which he sealed the pact he'd made after the girl's departure tasted as fresh to him now as it had then. He too was revived by Arven's rest.

Beginning with the castle, or the pile of rubble which had once been the castle to be more accurate, etchings and designs for floor upon floor, spires and dungeons. Pleased with them all, Jareth gave the nod, issuing the goblins to build as Arven told them. They built as fast as they could, but rarely fast enough to please Arven. Jareth watched on as his new confidant milled about, barking orders, snatching and tossing anything that wasn't swinging a hammer or smoothing a trough. It was magnificent. No wonder he'd been king.

When he'd finished with his near constant supervision of the goblin laborers, it pained Jareth to admit how efficient the little buggers had become. They'd managed a sturdy stone construction of sixteen rooms, a proper kitchen, a formal dining room, a less formal dining room, a throne room, a ballroom, a full floor dungeon with all sorts of devices he was sure would come in handy if any mortal ever solved his labyrinth again. If! There was a nursery for the collected children, an office for the king and one for Arven, a library, a sitting room, three bedrooms and two baths. Not to mention an impressive foyer that boasted the grand staircase and several fireplaces for keeping the whole place quite cozy regardless of the weather.

Jareth was most impressed, not only with the construction, but with the comfort and ease Arven showed in acknowledging it all as Jareth's. For such an aggressive personality he seemed content to be second in command, but then the king had saved his life and a debt like that could never be repaid in any amount of tangible wealth.

The goblin city took longer to rebuild, mostly because there was more to knock down and Arven insisted on starting with a clean canvas if he was to create something equally significant to the castle. Months gave way to years, but when he was through, there were proper houses, built to their scale. Neat cobblestone road lining the borders and making transportation in and around the city a far cry more convenient than it had ever been before. From his spire top bed chamber, Jareth could see it all. Pleased by what his second had done, he rested well.

Word of the improvements to Jareth's kingdom spread quickly and he received requests in droves to be entertained at the castle. None of which would be answered until the final modifications had been made, that is none but one and she never required his permission to drop in. As the sun cast a crimson coat over the night horizon, Jareth sat in the window of his study manipulating a few crystals effortlessly between his hands. A shrieking caw cutting his concentration, the crystals toppled to the floor, clinking and rolling away. Before him on the ledge, a handsome grey falcon. "Well, well, well," he said, straddling the ledge and using his hands to push himself back against the wall, "always a pleasure to have you." The bird cawed a few more times, Jareth chuckled. "Nonsense," he spoke as if he understood the confounded thing. "I've been arrogant since far before that."

The falcon pierced his hand with its beak. "Ow!" he yelped. "Now you just understand this. What ever softness I showed was only temporary and it was not a good thing." More cawing and ruffled feathers. Jareth reached his hand to the bird. "Most beloved sister," he said smoothly, "it's not that I don't appreciate your opinion, it's just that it so contradicts my own." With amazing gentility, he smoothed down her ruffled plumage.

In earnest, he was thankful for her visit. So few of his family remained. Met their ends by iron, most of them, cast off into the after life forever as their animal shape. His father, once a proud eagle, entrapped by the mortals until his second death. His mother, a sturdy phoenix, returned to her homeland, hadn't visited in more than a century. But Annacuin so enjoyed keeping watch over her son in the northern mines that she frequently, in Underground time that is, stopped by. It had taken rather a long time for Jareth to get used to speaking with her in her falcon form, but they had been close in life, ever able to understand one another, from the crib it seemed, and death couldn't change that.

"I accept that you don't want any part of it. That you don't want Eldamonde to see his uncle this way and I vow to be my most charming when I visit with him, but I must do what I must do to stop mortals from thinking they can destroy our world as they've destroyed their own. I did so hope you would try to understand Anna, my love."

"Long ago," she told him, "I learned I could not stop you from having what you desired long ago. I blame mother for that." Jareth let out a hearty laugh. He knew well enough, there was some truth to what she said. "But I beg you, when you become a mighty, fearsome and all powerful king, do not forget what you first had, what you were given. To do that will mean your death."

"Rubbish," he told her. "You've always been the melodramatic one. Just once it would be nice to see you support one of my pursuits without all the foreboding you are so famous for."

Her next words, spoken in any language would have had as much impact on him. "Darling brother, when the whole world has turned its back on you, I shall remain and I shall stay ever by your side, even when you have turned your back upon yourself." Talons popping tiny holes into his leather doublet, the falcon lowered itself to his chest and rubbed its head tenderly into the Goblin King's neck before gracefully spreading her wings and sailing into the sky.

Until she disappeared into the rich purple of the night, Jareth watched her glide, envious of how well her form suited her, when he at times still felt clumsy and awkward as an owl. Perhaps it took one's death to truly find comfort in what they were, but the Goblin King was in no hurry to find out.

The next morning, he awoke from the best sleep in his most recent memory to find Arven already hard at work on designs for the labyrinth. All the original walls were to be rebuilt, but even to the most familiar inhabitant, that is all which would remain original. Arven worked tirelessly to create Jareth's deadly labyrinth right down to the last detail, including the pit of spikes at the bottom of the shaft of hands which had added another goblin to the population only earlier today.

Jareth didn't mind so much, the modifications being made. They were, after all, serving his purpose quite nicely. It was only that he seemed to be forgetting so much about his old kingdom as of late, remembering what it used to be was becoming more important, especially the more he failed to recall. Especially when he dreamt of Annacuin and her prophecies. But he wanted to move forward at the same time. He wanted to destroy them, the mortals, before they destroyed his world. He had no one to help him in his endeavors, but Arven. He'd turned the goblins into hard working, brutal servants, rebuilt his castle and his kingdom more efficiently than Jareth could have hoped and more beautifully than the king had dreamed. Arven had been his only real contact in the last twenty years and besides, as much as he hated the word, the former king had come to be his one true friend. He had done more for him then just about anyone. That memory was as fresh as the death of the mortal he'd just witnessed.

* * *

Tapping the corner of the book against his palm, Arven stood before the Goblin King. "No and that is final," Jareth growled.

"I'm not trying to upset you," he claimed.

"Well you're succeeding despite the lack of effort."

"Your majesty, please. I've been looking through the records. When we first rebuilt the labyrinth we were accumulating over thirty new goblins a year, our survival rates were one in five and those from sheer refusal to participate. Last year we collected nine goblins, nine, in a year Jareth. And the kill from last week was our first in sixteen months."

The king pushed aside what he was reading and eyed his partner just before he slammed his hands against the desktop. "I'm running a kingdom Arven, not an above world factory."

"Forgive me if I've been too technical, but the point I was trying to make was that no one believes in fantasy anymore. If we get these," again he indicated the book, "back into circulation, it will increase intrigue, get people talking."

"Absolutely not," Jareth insisted. "That book does nothing more than tell the reader the key to solving the labyrinth and I won't have it put back into circulation!" Coming out from behind his desk, Jareth took three easy strides before snatching the red leather bound volume from Arven's hand. "This book brought my kingdom to it's knees and you want to republish it?"

"In my defense, your majesty, it was one child, one unrealistically lucky child who managed to, with the help of her little friends, defeat you. The first in centuries."

"The only, in the history of this kingdom!" the king corrected. "What makes you think you know so much about the situation?" he asked suspiciously.

Arven was stunned at the way the king spoke to him. "I've read the journals your highness. How else?"

"Right. I must remember to burn those."

"When we stand so much to learn from her? May I suggest rather that we analyze her story sire, and from it, check point ourselves to be sure we've created an impervious fortress?"

"Something tells me you've already done as much Arven, so why not cut to the chase." Jareth hated being toyed with.

"I may have made a few notes." The king arched his eyebrows. "As I've already said, none of her confidants remain, but for the dwarf and since you no longer allow him within the labyrinth's walls, he can't possibly be aware of the modifications. Alph, Ralph, the guards, they've all been reprogrammed, the helping hands are working for us. It would take more than luck to survive our maze."

"Our maze?" he questioned.

Arven shuddered. "Forgive me your highness, it's just that I've been here so long, it's begun to feel like my home and I _have_ spent so much time in the labyrinth..."

"Get to the point, if you have one."

The king was not a patient man, Arven had adjusted to that over the years. He knew what he was about to suggest would not be well received, but the only way to make a maze fool proof was to test it on the fool. "I've been watching her your highness. She doesn't believe in you anymore, chalks you up to her brother's overactive imagination. Blames the parties with your subjects on her being a lonely child. If we bring her back..."

"No," he growled. "All this time," Jareth paced, his arms flailing, "years, you've spent turning me against their kind and you want to bring her back here? Are you insane?" His hands clenched so hard Arven heard the leather stretch over his knuckles. "And how have you been watching her?" Arven stalled. "HOW!" he blared.

"Your crystals," he admitted with a nonchalance that came from his firm belief he'd been doing the right thing.

The king turned on him as fast as lightning strikes. "If you ever, ever mess with my magic again, I will remind you why this kingdom had only one immortal in it before you came."

"But Jareth, to defeat her, is there any better revenge?" He said it carelessly, like what he had done didn't matter. As if by being discreet he could slip in beneath the king's radar.

"Revenge?" he asked in a strange mix of shock and curiosity, proving Arven's theories weren't totally without merit.

"Think about this, if she were to return, full of arrogance, eager to take on _your_ maze. I bet she'd be dead before she found the first turn." Jareth mulled it over for a moment. "Your reputation would be rebuilt as well as your kingdom and around this realm, you would be legend once more." Arven watched carefully, feeling as if he could see the gears turning in the king's head.

"There is one minor kink in your plan," Jareth explained. "In order for a guest to receive a second invitation to the labyrinth, the first child they wished away must not have been their own and the second child must be their own. Ms Williams is currently without children."

"How does his majesty know that?"

"As if I were going to explain myself to you."

Arven shook his dark hair back from his shoulders, thinning his eyes to slits as he surveyed the king. "Keep your secrets Jareth, but as your friend I find myself left to wonder are you fanning the fires of hatred for this woman, as you should for all mortals, or are you fanning your desire."

"Out," the king instructed quietly. "Go back to your study, forget about this book, find another way to bring me the mortals and I will show you my intentions. If it's thirty goblins a year you want, I shall triple the number." With a satisfied smile, Arven turned to leave, "But," Jareth added before he could escape, "question my intentions again and you will meet the fires that I fan Arven. I have accepted but one friend in all my years, I beg you not to make me regret that choice."

"Certainly not, my lord." Bowing low, he quickly took his leave.

Hoggle's shack was small. Two and a half rooms, a bed, to the extent a sewn together canvas stuffed with forest flooring could be considered a bed, a tiny eat-in kitchen where a stump served as his table and there was no running water, and a small water closet which Jareth was generous enough to provide the last time he caught him at one of the fountains outside the labyrinth.

Moaning, he tossed on his flimsy bed, rolling in an almost seamless transition onto the floor. It had been months since he'd gotten a decent sleep. Working the gates was starting to get to him in a major way. Every time he saw someone descend the hill toward him, his stomach turned to knots and once he shut them inside the guilt would wash him in a cold sweat, but still he did his job. If for no other reason than that he was a coward and Jareth scared him.

Something wasn't right, but because he'd traveled between the worlds so often and for so long, it escaped him what or where the inconsistency was. He hadn't the magic Jareth had, no crystal globe to show him the workings of the worlds, just a gut, a sensitive one at that which wasn't typically wrong.

"HIGGLE!" the king's voice boomed from inside his head. Time for him to begin another day guarding the gate. Stumbling to his feet, he brushed the floor dirt from his pants and slipped on his leather vest.

"Where is it? Where is it?" the dwarf grumbled as he sifted through the contents of his bedroom searching desperately for his leather cap. Snatching it from under some dirty dishes, Hoggle dashed for the door as fast as his stout legs would carry him.

* * *

Most days by the time he'd taken his position at the labyrinth gates, whatever uneasiness his restless sleep had left behind managed to disappear. But these days, with no fairies to kill, not that there weren't fairies, there were. It was just that Jareth didn't want them killed any longer. So few visitors stopping by these days, it left him with all too much time to think.

No matter where his thoughts began, inside or outside the Labyrinth, inside or outside the Underground, they were united in one common thread, a mortal girl who called him friend. Never before and never since had any guest of the king called the dwarf a friend. Much like she now considered him a result of her brother's overactive imagination, she had become rather ethereal to him. More an elusive concept than a tangible being, he could keep his companion with him in spirit. Every now and again, he'd catch himself talking to her when no one was anywhere near enough to hear. Each pair of feet to descend the hill toward the gate was inspected for pale slip on loafers, but they never came.

It was foolish perhaps for him to hope the way he did for the return of what was by now a fully grown woman. Still he did hope, each day, that if she weren't going to call him, he could some how summon her, one last time. To hear someone call him friend, to feel her embrace once more, to know there was still something good out there.

Certainly nothing good existed in his world, not anymore. It left when she left. Every now and again the tiny optimist inside his heart would whisper her name. "Sarah Williams." And on nights when the chill made the hair on his arms stiffen with possibility, Hoggle would quietly invite her back, "I need you Sarah." No matter the number of times he called nor the level of sincerity behind the plea, it was never met.

The dwarf sighed as he sat in the dirt, his full face resting in the palms of his hand as his sausage fingers drummed against his cheeks. "Don't know why I bother," he mumbled. "Same reason I sit here every day and talk to thin air, nothing better to do, I s'pose." A fairy nipped the back of his neck forcing him to end the deep conversation he'd been having with himself and rouse him from his comfortable spot. "Oh," he grumbled taking the hint to begin his pacing, after all that is what he was supposed to be doing.

"Don't know why I gots to be the one to guard this gate. S'not like he don't know when someone's comin'. No, it's always, Higgle'll do it. Let Hogwart do the most boring thing in the realm. Hoghead's got no life." His tiny foot launched a stone against one of Jareth's profile structures that littered the maze. Standing stiff, as if he were really speaking to the king himself, Hoggle wagged his pointer at the statue. "You listen to me. I do got a life, no matter what you think. And I had a friend once too, until _you_ drove her away. You...you..."

Behind him like a shadow, Jareth stood in complete silence taking in the tirade for a moment before startling the angry dwarf into turning around. Now eye to eye with his king, Hoggle stammered, "You...r majesty! How nice to see you."

"Huggle, if I didn't know you to be an extraordinary coward, I may have thought you were questioning me, just there, for a moment."

"No, no, your majesty, I thought I heard a few ...eh...neighsayers rummaging in the kingdom's boundaries...yes... and so I was practicing ...um...what I'd tell them when I found them."

"Hoople, you know better than to think I haven't already heard everything you said," Jareth reminded him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now why not impress me by being man enough to say it to my face." At the challenge, he stooped down, finding it only fair since there was no hope for the dwarf to grow. "Well?"

Hoggle's lips trembled. "I'm waiting," the king taunted.

For a brief second it looked as though he might respond, but his mouth clamped shut and his eyes fell to the floor. "I thought as much." The Goblin King stood tall, turned on the heel of his black leather knee boots and paced away evenly.

"Rat," the dwarf mumbled.

As if a hitch had been attached to the belt of his brown leather waistcoat and the reel of cord had reached it's maximum extension, Jareth halted with a jerk, this pivot was slow, fearsome, purposeful. As he reached the 180 degree mark his narrowed eyes caught hold of Hoggle. On any other day, the look alone would have intimidated him into silence, but today, he found himself meeting Jareth stride for stride until they collided at the middle distance between where they stood.

"What did you say?" the king hissed.

"You heard me, I called you a rat. You've always been a rat. You have been since the first time that pompous ass of yours fell into the throne."

Black leather crashed against his cheek as Hoggle rolled head over heels in the amber sand. "Do you really think she had some sort of feeling for you, you pathetic little fool."

"She needed me," the dwarf defended from the flat of his back.

"Until bigger and better things came along. She needed you until you were replaced. Now as she treads on her earth, she calls you nothing more than an adolescent fantasy developed to help her come to terms with her parent's separation."

Hoggle spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. "I'm her friend."

"Imaginary friend at best," Jareth snorted. "Forget her, forget her like she's forgotten you." The toe of the king's leather boot kicked a spray of sand over him to illustrate his point.

"I can't do that," Hoggle said struggling to lift himself up to his elbows. "I loves her."

Jareth dropped to his knee, clutching the defiant hireling by the collar of his dingy shirt. "You what?" he hissed.

"I loves her. Always have, always will. Like you," the dwarf stood, eye to eye with the Goblin King. "Don't think I don't know what you offered her. Her dreams, her wishes, all in exchange for her love."

'Fear me, love me, do as I say and I shall be your slave,' those were the terms he'd set for Sarah Williams. In Jareth's mind it was beyond fair, but to the girl, it was as easy to refuse as a cancer. "Love her!" he cried. "Love her?"

"Don't deny it."

"How could I love her? I wanted her left to the Labyrinth. I wanted the child. Nothing more."

Hoggle smirked, something he did rarely. "At first maybe, but then you manufactured that lil' present of yours, the one that brought her to your ball. You held her close. You sang to her. Tell me again Jareth, if you can, tell me again how you don't love her."

Tossing him aside, Jareth stood tall, straightened his jacket and his gloves and announced clearly, "The day I do as you ask of me Piglet is the day I relinquish my throne for a spot in the bog. I don't have to prove anything to you. She should have never been brought here in the first place and she's never coming back. Get that through that leather cap and extraordinarily thick skull of yours. You are nothing to her. I am nothing to her and she," he paused and headed in the opposite direction, "is nothing to me. In fact, she is nothing at all."

Watching him leave, Hoggle couldn't help feeling like Jareth was wrong about more than one of his statements. "Her name," he said with no fear of being heard, "is Sarah."

* * *

His exchange with Hoggle had caused the king to forget nearly entirely the reason he'd gone to the veil in the first place. "What are you doing here?" Arven asked when Jareth entered the throne room. "Where's the child?"

"What child?"

"Jareth, the girl, you were going to meet the girl and bring back the child? You did meet the girl didn't you?"

Without waiting around to hear more the king vanished leaving little more than a fine dusting of glitter in his wake.

* * *

Disregarding the start he'd given the dwarf with his out of thin air return, Jareth took the veil in one smooth stride, crossing over into the above world with grace and elegance. Sliding open the patio door, he stepped inside, black boots crisp against a thick white carpet.

"Not happening," the fifteen year old before him insisted, twisting her head to and fro while the last rays of sunlight caught the amber streaks in her rich brown hair. "This is not happening."

"'Fraid it is love."

"Who are you?"

Jareth leaned against the doorway, "Come now, you called for me. Suddenly you don't know who I am. I find that hard to believe."

"Jesus Christ!" The girl fell back into the rocking chair next to the now empty crib. "You're him." Jareth made a rolling motion with his right hand. A small circle drawn in thin air by the tips of his first two fingers, reflecting his impatience. "You're the Goblin King."

"I am?" he beamed with an almost nostalgic sarcasm. "My, but that would explain this sensational outfit, don't you think?" She made no attempt to answer him, in fact, she seemed rather unamused by his implied shock. "Oh bugger you're going to be one of those serious types," Jareth sighed. "Alright then, have it you're way," he announced as his stride brought him nearer to her. "You have thirteen hours in which to solve the labyrinth, or your little sister will become one of us forever."

"But it was a mistake, I ... I didn't mean it."

"Don't you mortals ever get tired of your endless strings of excuses."

Defiantly, she contradicted him, "It's not an excuse. It's an expression, like when you say you'd like to kill someone because they make you angry, but you don't really mean you want to kill anyone. It's an exaggeration."

Jareth looked sympathetic for a fraction of a moment, "Let me assure you child, when someone makes me angry enough to want to kill them," his finger lifted her chin so she could better gauge the seriousness in the king's eyes, "that is exactly what I do." Allowing her face to fall, he lifted his hand bringing its back crashing against her cheek, shaking her balance enough to land her on the floor. "Exactly!"

Over her shoulder, she settled her stare on him. How could he be so dangerous, so cruel and yet handsome, no, more beautiful than handsome on second thought. So much so it almost dissipated the ache in her jaw. His wild eyes, his wild hair, that sharp tongue only to be outdone by his rough touch. And yet a grace, an elegance that contradicted the evil he tried to lead with.

"Who made you this angry?"

"What?"

"Who made you this angry?" the girl repeated, still curled on the floor like a frightened baby snake, knowing it could strike, but not with enough force to ward off the attacker. Rather than depend on her bite, she mustered the best bark she could manage under the circumstances, shouting at him. "It wasn't me. We've only just met. I haven't had the opportunity to make you angry, so, who did it? What did they do? What am I paying for?"

The cold line in his lips gave way, going soft and hanging as he listened to her outburst. He felt the sting on the back of his hand finally, making it impossible to pretend her cheek wasn't mimicking the burn. "My people have always been at war with mortals. Each of you is the same, spouting out words without giving a thought to their meaning, assuming that words could be exchanged as easily as ill-fitting denim." Jareth paced in the small room, heels clicking on the wood floor, frustrated at the spot the girl had managed to press. "Well, where I come from, it's not that easy. Once you say something, it's said, it's meant." He kneeled before her. "There is no taking it back, no changing one's mind. It's forever."

Tears welled up in her young and innocent eyes. Not because of the pain now staining her olive skin a merciless purple color, but rather because she had managed a piece of the puzzle no mortal, not even the legendary Sarah Williams, had ever put together. Almost silently she murmured, "The king had fallen in love with the girl."

"What did you say?" he spun on her, the draft from his cape like ice against her exposed skin.

She shook her head, causing one of the tears pressing against her lower lid to leap forth and roll down her cheek. The hand that had struck her only minutes before, now gently swiped her face, almost like a kiss. What Jareth's eyes examined was a perfect drop perched upon his fingertip, a reflection of the room capsulized within it, a twin of the huddled girl hung upside down dangling from the roof of the transparent globe. Lowering it a few inches, he tipped his finger allowing it to roll smoothly over the soft leather of his glove and burst it's fragile shell against the rough terrain of his dried lower lip.

"Pity," he spit, the salt from her tear like acid to him. "You dare to pity me." His arm encircled her waist, jerking roughly until their chests met, her face a breath away from his. "Where did you hear that?"

"W...wh...what?" she stammered, at once unnerved by his closeness and his visible hatred.

With an infallible accuracy his eyes locked on hers, "The phrase, the one you'd like to think I didn't hear. Where did you hear it?"

Immediately she noticed the spicy aroma of his breath, the extraordinary heat compared to that of, how had he referred to her, a mortal. "B...ook," she shook, nerves, the king thought. On the surface it did appear nothing more than the nerves of a fifteen year old girl whose fairytale had flown in through the window when her parents were away. "I read it in a book." But beneath the cool exterior she tried to pull together for fear of what he would do next, was the awakening of a woman. A woman whose first taste of sensuality was being served to her quite unintentionally by a king who couldn't help but exude it, whatever his motive. Worse still, she liked it. Intrigued by how he could take her to the limits of her purity, making her feel as if she'd succumb to desire without ever destroying the barrier that kept her pure. If he'd had asked it, shown some interest in it, she'd have let him. Given him her innocent body to mar, to maim if he wished it, all he needed do was say the word.

Words, she understood their power now, more than ever before, certainly more than when she'd uttered them while frustrated with her infant sibling. Jareth let her fall then, just as her new covenant registered in her mind. Just as she'd felt her eyes begin to droop, the distinct lines of his lips all she could see, her body arching involuntarily to his touch, the distance between them decreasing slowly and purposefully, until her head met with the carpeted floor beneath. Even if he'd shown her the interest she'd craved in that moment, it would have been only his body. His body and her young impressionable heart. The pity she felt quickly switched it's focus from the king to the girl in the story she had read.

Rummaging through some things on a nearby counter top, Jareth asked without looking back at her, "Where is the book?"

Though her knees shook and her legs felt as unstable as toothpicks beneath her. She stood, slowly. Bracing herself on the rim of the empty playpen that had been a child's haven earlier that night. Her heart broke. Why had she said the things she had said? If she had the chance to take it back, would she? Or would she do it all over again?

She looked around the room as if she'd never seen it before. Outside the patio doors the king had come through she saw the red sand hill and the crooked black trees. Jareth noticed her attention waning and slammed his hand against the counter. "Where is the book?"

Jumping at the sound which echoed through the entire house, or so it seemed, the girl pointed. A small red leather bound volume, the cover tooled in gold, twinkled like a night star beneath the light of a lamp on a side table. It bore a cream lampshade which nearly replicated the delicate parchment pages of the book, that was how Jareth knew it was authentic. No matter how quickly he'd risen to his feet and went searching for it the first time, he only looked at it now, as if by looking at it long enough it would come to him. Perhaps he should have never left it go.

As she turned to retrieve it for him, Jareth was behind the girl before she could turn back. His hand covered hers. At the shock, she turned into him, once again, face to face with the Goblin King. Her breath hitched and her heart beat twice as fast. "I'll take that." She dropped her hand away. Jareth filed through the pages, his eyes sticking to certain phrases like picking old friends out of a group photo.

_Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be..._

_It's further than you think..._

_Piece of cake..._

_As the world falls down..._

_It's junk, it's all junk..._

_Take the baby and hide it..._

_If that is the way it must be done, then that is the way you must do it..._

_Look what I'm offering you.._

_You have no power over me..._

_Should you need us..._

It was like a picture reel, flipping in his memory, echoing like a cry of pain from the bottom of the deepest oubliette. "Where did you find this?" he asked her as she stood still frozen, memorizing the features of his distinctive face. "Where?" he growled.

"An old used book store."

"Which one?"

"I don't remember. We were on vacation. My parents wanted to go to this museum, but I didn't feel like going so I went to the shopping district instead, I found it in with the journals. I thought that was weird because it had writing already in it. Journals are supposed to be blank, but this one already had someone's story. I got to thinking it was meant for me to find so I bought it."

"This was never meant for you."

"I know, I know, but I didn't understand the story before I read it. Now..."

"Now? Now you know better? You think you've unlocked some riddle, solved something." His hand clasped over the back of her neck. His thumb pressing against a spot that made her gasp. Opening the sliding glass door with his free hand, he threw her into the sand.

When she pulled her face up, she spat out the grains. "Here's your real puzzle," he told her. "Here's the riddle you must solve. Thirteen hours to make the trip, from your own back door to my front one, and, if you survive, I shall allow you the opportunity to best me. If you're smart," he began. "Well, if you were smart, you wouldn't have taken for granted the _harmless_ words in some story book. Let's say that if you have in fact gotten any smarter from our time together," his fingertips stroked her face from temples to chin, "you'll let the labyrinth have you. I know your body's trembling at the thought of it right now, at the very idea of you and I engaged in that final battle, me promising you the world, and you're thinking, if I were her, I'd take it. I'd say yes to you."

He wasn't wrong. She'd thought that very thing since he'd first softened before her while she coiled on the floor. What she would say when he offered her the dreams she never told anyone about. When he bartered his servitude for her love.

"You should know before you pick out a china pattern that will match the drapes, the odds of your surviving my labyrinth are substantially low."

"But at least one did."

"One did, it's true." Jareth tucked the book inside the arm hole of his leather doublet, pressing it over his heart where he was sure a good full breath would keep it from working loose and being lost to a mortal once again. "But let's just say I've rewritten a few pages. Forget everything you've read, forget the baby, go back to your petty mortal amusements."

"I can't, don't you see that I can't"

"Then have at it. Thirteen hours, not a second more. And I promise," he hissed, lowering his face until he was eye to eye with the girl, "you won't make it as far as you think."

Switching his stare from her left eye to her right eye, he waited to see how she'd react. Admittedly he hadn't expected her challenging return gaze, nor had he expected her head to tilt back, her lips raising to his where he allowed them to meet for only a brief second before pulling away so that they merely grazed each other.

"You're risking enough just being here," he warned her. Looking around she became aware that her house was no longer there, waiting a few precious steps behind her. "I would highly recommend you not risk anything more." With that said, he faded from her vision, leaving her to decide whether she would die inside the maze or there in the sand. A fairy's bite could be deadly enough if they meant it to be.

* * *

"This is what we were to her," he said with eerie calmness as he drew the book from against his chest and tossed it in the dwarf's direction. "Left in a used bookstore for someone else to find. Your dear friend, your only precious friend, trading the memory of you away like an old baseball card. This is what you were, what I was, what the Underground was. You must give up your foolish ideas. Mortals don't care about immortals, they want to come here after our resources, after our blood, after the secrets we have for longevity and healing. We're something to be wasted to them, just like everything else they discover."

"This is exactly why I think we should put new volumes out there your majesty," Arven reminded him, "to bring them here and thin their numbers, to show them this world isn't theirs to manipulate."

"They've romanticized it. The girl who I confiscated this from acted like I was there to seduce her. Proliferating copies of this book isn't going to gain us mortals who will pay for their attempts to destroy us, it will only bring them here seeking salvation, an adventure into self discovery. I would as soon leave that discovery to the backseat of parents' borrowed vehicles in remote locations beneath the light of their world's moon. I'm not running a fantasy camp for little girls Arven. I'll thin their numbers as I take their lives, convert their children. Anything but be made a fool of by girls hungry for their first kiss. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Arven answered.

"Leave me, both of you. I intend to remain in my bed chamber for the remainder of the night. I do not wish to be disturbed."

He stormed out, steady strides carrying him to the solitude he'd been seeking. He rolled a crystal from his palm onto a golden pedestal at his bedside table. Another twist of his wrist and his leather garments gave way to silk sleep wear. The satin sheets invited him, the pillow, filled with down, welcomed the weight of his head. The king sighed. This one was remarkably perceptive he thought, this mortal, this ordinary girl. He would need to keep her under constant surveillance for fear she might actually succeed. He couldn't allow that, couldn't have two insolent teenagers besting him in the same lifetime. Mumbling an incantation, the orb beside his head blinked twice. The spell was set.

He'd fallen asleep quickly then, welcoming the peacefulness unconsciousness afforded him. Only to be awoken as a dream was beginning to take shape in his subconscious mind. The blinking orb, telling him the girl he was watching was in peril. She was on the edge of the forest, listening closely to what she thought were wolves. "Turn back," he told the figure who couldn't hear him. "Turn back before it's too late."

As stubborn as he had assumed she would be, the girl stepped between the trees, almost silently but for the twig that snapped beneath her foot. The slightest noise summoned them. He and Arven had designed it that way. They were quick, thorough. She'd never see the bog. He'd successfully collected another mortal child.

But that wasn't what kept him awake as he attempted to roll over and return to his dream. It was the nine letter word emblazoned by the glow of the orb that stole his focus. "Just a fairytale," he grumbled. "A figment of your imagination. A fantasy. Some recyclable bit of insignificant paper." He clutched the orb, taking it to his open window. "Perhaps it's time I reminded you just how real I am." The promise carried in the night air as did the orb he blew gently from his open hand and onto the wind.


	5. Chapter 4

I apologize for posting this so late. I try to always get the new chapters up on the first, but a wonderful weekend of debauchery with a good friend distracted me and before I knew it I was preparing the uneditted version for my website when it dawned on me that the first had come and gone without my visiting here.

Thanks to all of my readers. You have left some very thought provoking feedback for me and I've done my best to respond to each of you individually, but generally here I'd just like to say how pleased I am that you've accepted my darker Laby fanfic as warmly as you had BTTL and that I love following along with you as you try to figure out what's coming. Please keep leaving me feedback. I love it!

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The bottom of a bottle of wine was a lonely place to be. It didn't matter how vintage the mix, how sweet the bouquet, how pricey the purchase. When you realized the last drop had fallen from the extended neck into the waiting rim of your finest glass, not even the harmony of the reunion can outweigh the notion that you were the one to swallow it down and that you would be the one to wash that lone glass when the sun came up. Sarah finished her drink and tipped the bottle once more for good measure. "To my little brother" she toasted, raising the empty glass to the fullest extent her arm would allow. "To my little brother who will marry younger than me, most likely stay that way longer than me and who will no doubt succeed in having all the things I was never able to."

Candles providing the only speck of light in her otherwise shadowed apartment, Sarah made her way carefully to the kitchen . Alcohol had a way of making even the most basic things seem suddenly unfamiliar. Without fail, that which was otherwise most mundane to her grew more foreign with each step. What she thought was the lip of the dishwasher turned out to be the silverware drawer and the edge of the sink basin was a bit more edgy than she had anticipated. In fact, she couldn't help appreciating when she heard the glass shatter that she wouldn't have that extra dish in the morning.

It occurred to her in passing that there wasn't enough light to get her up the stairs to the loft where her bed waited, cold and empty as usual. Just as well, she decided, the couch was closer anyway, not to mention visible in the amber glaze from numerous flames. The end table sat quietly behind her head, reminding Sarah just how quiet the whole world seemed as twenty-five and some odd fraction ounces of imported Cabernet Sauvignon swished in her otherwise empty stomach. Despite the collection of remote controls on the corner of the table, she knew the stereo remote above all others, thankful for the neon green glow of its ugly buttons. Holding it only an inch or two from her eyes, she jabbed at a few buttons. Power...play...random.

"Jesus," Sarah muttered as the tears fell down her face. Her eyes strained in the faint light to find the mantle of the fireplace where symmetrically between two ivory pillar candles balanced on their crystal bases she found the one picture ofTimothy she hadn't managed to pack away, even all this time later.

He'd been wearing a neatly tailored white linen suit with the slightest pinstripe set into it. Slung into what remained of a worn out wingback chair tattooed by gold appliqué. The seams were worn and bits of stuffing poured from the openings, but Tim refused to part with that chair and on this occasion his worn and tired expression seemed only to compliment the antique. Beneath his black polished shoes curled a runner which hid only a small portion of the wood flooring. That too could have used a good strip and shine. To his left, a unembellished writing desk, supported a lamp whose split shade managed to ignite only half of his face, casting a shadow on the rest. It was a dark, serious photograph, a side of him she'd seen only rarely and to be frank, the side of him which she found most alluring.

A million years ago that very serious subject pulled out that suit his love had so cherished and took her away to a most remote restaurant. A nook if anything. Less than a dozen tables all reserved months in advance by the trendiest types. The kind of place nothing extraordinary happened. A quiet place where the staff knew the regulars who all knew one another. Where grandmother's turned eighty in a hush and widows came to remember last meals and favorite dishes with their departed spouse, but where no one fussed and no one spoke the thoughts they held silently within themselves.

Music played constantly there, foreign mostly, if Sarah was lucky should could pick out a word or two as she paused on the sidewalk to watch the antiquity within. He'd bought her something simple to wear, a floral dress with short sleeves. Her hair, still rather lengthy then, had been neatly curled, cascading to the middle of her back. A tie met the ends of her raven trusses, cinching the dress neatly around her waist and giving shape to something that would have hung pencil straight on her otherwise.

She'd ordered a stuffed roughy, served on a bed of rice pilaf with accompanying fresh vegetables. Tim chose the flounder, baked potato, salad, oil and vinegar dressing, sunflower seeds rather than croutons. A bottle of 1928 Chardonnay. She should have guessed when the speakers filled with words she could understand, or even when he wiped the corners of his mouth midway through his salad, standing and pushing his chair back under the table as if he was going somewhere. The way he held his hand out to her and seemed to tuck her tight in the fold of his right arm. The spot they danced in was comfortably several square feet, but with all eyes in the restaurant on them it may as well have been the head of a pin.

But none sent a signal to her, none until he leaned in to her, pressed his cold, quivering lips to her ear and said, "I wanted very much to tell you in my own words, but when one finds someone else who's already captured them more eloquently than my wagging tongue and yapping jaws could ever do, I would be a fool not to beg assistance."

What he plucked from his interior breast pocket was a two carat solitaire, snuggled between two trios of quarter carat accent diamonds. When he bent to one knee, she felt herself go light in the head. He looked so small, so vulnerable from her perspective. "Sarah Williams, I need you to complete all the days of my life. If you refuse me, I shall know no happiness forever after, show me you are not so cruel as to let a man whose condition is otherwise a healthy one deplete alone. Do me the honor of saving me. Be my wife."

Obscuring a clear yes, the tears clogged her throat in their rush to her eyes. The platinum band slid gracefully over the knuckles of the third finger on her left hand, as if it had been cast around her very digit. Those who'd witnessed the proposal cheered. A Greek couple at the table next to them ordered a bottle of Ouzo and immediately insisted on shot glasses to serve the house.

From that point on, the restaurant became a legendary haunt for eager young men wishing to plot the irrefutable proposal of life long commitment, but they would always know who had been the first. The regulars who had shared that moment would tell the story, even in the wake of a new engagement, dimming the new joy with a reflection on the old. It would be assumed, when a relationship begins with as strong a passion as had theirs, such a fire could burn almost endlessly. Theirs was a fairytale indeed, but as they will, even the greatest fairytales ended and when the curtains closed, happily ever after seemed eager to go awry.

This happy ending lasted four short years. The shame of it was, Sarah loved him, for certain she loved him. Perhaps not _in love_ with him. Perhaps more that she wanted so terribly to flee her childhood that she went running full speed into the arms of the first man she could tolerate. Not to impress Timothy as anything less than amiable, for he was that and much, much more. There were many attributes he possessed in quantities that would be the envy of other men, or make Sarah the envy of other women.

Neither short on height nor short of looks, Timothy gave off a debonair sense, all charm and good nature. Mild in temper, it was rare that his riled nerves would result in anything more than heavy whisper and a few sharp words. As it were, they so seldom disagreed Sarah had witnessed his outbursts, if they could be called such, only in the courtroom and, even then, only when his passion got the better of his good judgment. In one instant, she saw the blood rush to his face and in the next, a cleansing breath taken in through the nose filling not just his chest, but his abdominal cavity as well. All in the span of a sigh, he'd managed his emotions, returning to an even keel.

His sense of humor was dry, deadpan, much to Sarah's taste, he displayed a witty sense of sarcasm that managed to crack her smile even when stress had sewn her lips into a tight line. The more insane hours she had fallen into keeping of late seemed worthless during their marriage. Fleeing the firm at her first opportunity to meet him for their walks home. He'd offer his arm, sometimes silent, sometimes comical, sometimes sly with some cheesy pick up as if they'd never met.

Romance was not a theme with which Timothy struggled. Once a week without notice, he would cancel his regularly attended lunch date with his wife, claiming work was keeping him from being free. Inevitably that evening they would arrive home and he would deny any knowledge of the roses which littered their apartment. The repeated behavior continued to surprise the blushing bride for months. Timothy's delivery always made it difficult to determine the validity of his deception. He found new ways to keep her ever wondering how he would display his affections, but always, once a week, she received a bouquet of colorful mixed roses to remind her of the whimsical nature of their young marriage.

In return he asked her for nothing more than their child. For three years, they had not so much been trying to get pregnant as they had been not trying to _not_ get pregnant. Timothy would have made a wonderful father and despite what Sarah assumed about her own maternal capabilities, she felt her body ache to be filled by a life growing inside her. Every month Tim's hopes would escalate only to be crushed by the shaking head of his mournful wife. Secretly each blamed their own inadequacies for the constant negative result. Not wanting to pressure Sarah, Tim went to have fertility tests conducted. All of which he passed excellently. Not wanting to make her husband uneasy, Sarah had similar tests done. She too had no physical reason she should be unable to conceive.

By their last year together, sex had grown mechanical, scheduled. Temperature checks, monotonous positions, lying prone with her legs skyward for more than a half an hour after any intimacy, if you could call something so sterile intimacy. They attended counseling for the growing animosities between them which all culminated when Tim accused Sarah of secretly taking her birth control pills. He'd found a half empty packet in her bedside table. When she pointed out the date it should have been obvious to him it was the package she'd been in the middle of when they'd decided to not be so careful anymore. Unfortunately Tim's heart was already so distraught that even logic couldn't convince him. He'd come up with some complex fabrication about how it was a decoy to keep him from searching for her regular prescription. When she'd out turned all her drawers, purses, briefcase to prove him crazy, he accused her of getting the Deprovera injection.

She cried for the full weekend after their fight. Longing for the easy going romantic who'd won her heart in college, Sarah became increasingly despondent. Timothy's attempts to reach her became less sensitive. Sex between the two of them felt nearly forced. Even the counselor agreed his continued attempts to help them succeed in moving beyond their inexplicable infertility were a waste of finances.

Three months later, as civilly as they'd begun, Sarah and Timothy wrote their own divorce settlement and parted ways. She kept the apartment and he found some place new. He'd pay half the rent, plus two thousand a month alimony until such time as she received a significant increase in wages. Sarah felt he was being overly charitable, blaming himself for what happened and trying to pay away his guilt. Regardless of her objections, he insisted.

It's funny, but falling in love gave you such a queer feeling in the pit of your stomach. Divorce gives you the same queer feeling, but for a completely different reason. When he left, he kissed her. As passionately as he had when she accepted his proposal. Leaving someone you had lost love for was difficult, but leaving someone you couldn't help but still love, was damn near impossible. Who broke their embrace first was impossible to say, but their hands slid from each others shoulders as slowly as the tears rolled off their cheeks, until a forced set of smiles and a dozen grazing fingertips ended the whirlwind romance.

When the depression of being alone wore off, Sarah thought about volunteering with children, but from her first interaction with other people's children she knew it was just rubbing salt in an open wound. In a self serving compromise, she agreed to give pro bono legal assistance to the bureau of Children's Services. The firm was so impressed with her, they immediately set her on the partner track. After a fair deal of discussion, Tim agreed to stop his alimony payments on the condition that if she needed anything she would not be too proud to ask.

Charitable as ever, Tim's demands were always in Sarah's favor. In truth, she'd saved much of the money he'd sent her and was living well beyond comfortably with the increase from the firm. It wasn't until Toby left that she spent any of it. When he moved into his own apartment she began spending. Thousand dollar suits, hundreds on shoes, a Ferrari she rarely drove, ordered in foods and it was all replenished as quickly as she'd spent it.

She still represented her pro bono charities and made regular donations to the Fourth Presbyterian Church, often dropping fifty dollars or more in the collection box after 8:00 mass on Sundays. For years, she'd sat in the very same pews and prayed that God would bless her with a child or heal the rift in her marriage. Now when she attended mass, she did not ask for such astronomical favors, rather she hoped she'd find the strength to make it through one week at a time and even that seemed to be an astronomical undertaking at times. Like right now, for example.

Wiping at the photo her tears smeared the dust gathered on the glass as Sarah forced herself to replace the picture to the mantel. "Not doing this," she whimpered. "I am not going to do this," her second attempt more of a declaration. A bit more forceful, more believable as she ground at her wet eyes. "I do love him, I always have, but like I love my brother, or my father. I'm sorry, Tim," Sarah told the photograph, "but there's always been some vital fire missing between us and maybe everyone knew that but us, even our unborn child. I look at it as a good thing," the lawyer in her argued. "We spared a child the ugly outcome of watching his or her parents divorce."

Sobered by being dragged down memory lane, Sarah extinguished the flames scattered about her lower level and climbed the stairs to her bed. Even in the dark, the outline of Timothy in his tailored white suit seemed to stick out like a star against the night sky, tormenting her. White knuckled fingers pushed her away from the ledge where she was surveying. Since the day her husband had left, the apartment never seemed so big, so lonely.

Falling back onto her feathertop mattress, she prayed for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

How she ended up on the floor with her head pressed against the side of the box spring, would remain a mystery. Startled by the merciless ringing of her phone, Sarah struggled to stand on her numb legs and succeeded only in making them cry out in piercing anguish as they were ravaged by the pins and needles which accompanied a prolonged lack of circulation. Fumbling for the phone, she managed a gruff, "Hello," from between the sandy lips of her dry mouth. 

"Sarah?"

"Um..hum," she confirmed flexing her face and swishing her tongue to try and create some moisture that would make her more coherent.

"It's Laney, Sarah. I'm worried about you. I haven't seen or heard from you since you got back from Toby's. I've left you half a dozen messages."

Making the first excuse she could think of, Sarah told her, "I've been busy." It wasn't a complete lie that is to say if you considered drinking and hiding in your apartment busy work. "I know it's no reason for not at least letting you know I was okay, but I guess I've been a little selfish of late."

"Sarah, it's a tough time for you, I know that. Now that Toby's getting married. I'm sure it's bringing up a lot of old memories for you."

"Good memories," she reminded tearfully.

Even Laney sniffled at the pain in her voice. "Even good memories can hurt." There was a short silence while she listened to her friend poorly cloaked whimpering. "Sarah, you and Toby tormented each other as all siblings do. He's forgiven you. You've stayed faithful to a husband who left you seven years ago. He's moved on. He's forgiven you. Don't you think it's time you forgive yourself.

Without comment, Sarah shook her head.

"What do you say we go out for lunch? We'll do a little retail therapy and you'll come out with us tonight?"

"No, Laney, the last thing I want to do is go out tonight."

"Would you rather hide in that apartment forever, never meet anyone? You've got to set yourself free of the ghosts, honey. You'll see, it can be very liberating. A bunch of girls. One night out. Feeling very powerful. Before long, you'll be that Sarah I admired when I met her. The one who forged her own way and made everyone else conform to her."

Silence.

"I'm not asking Sarah, I'm telling. I _will_ be at your apartment in 45 minutes." Sarah squinted at her clock. That would be 11:00. "And you _will_ come with me." The dial tone hummed in her ear arrogantly.

Conceding to Laney's demands, she rose to shower. The tile of the bathroom floor chased off the remnants of sleep still crusted in her eyes. In the mirror, a stranger looked back at her. It had only been a week since her visit with Toby and the solitary confinement had gotten the better of her. Dark circles under eyes which would require weeks of treatment with cold cream. Blood shot eyes that would need more than the eye drops she offered them now. Maybe there was something to what her friend was saying.

In and out of the shower more quickly than she would have liked, Sarah readied quickly, simply. A pair of blue jeans, complimented by a green, pull over, cashmere sweater. Refusing to be seen in sneakers and so she strapped on a classic pump. A little gel left her hair looking rumpled and messy, but in a very sexy sort of way. Maybe she could drag herself into the mood to go out after all.

Laney arrived five minutes earlier than she had said, ever true to her nature and Sarah surprised her by being ready. When she answered the door, her hair done, her make up perfect, dressed with a Louis Vuitton bag in hand, the tiny brunette stumbled. "Ready?" Sarah asked almost buoyantly.

"Yeah," Laney replied, suddenly renewed with eagerness. "Yeah I am."

* * *

They lunched at a trendy little bar called N9ne. A house special called caviar to the N9nes tempted them both. A trio of American caviars with crisp potato pancakes, chives and creme fraiche, it felt decadent and elegant at the same time. Chablis complimented the meal nicely and enhanced the flavor of the caviar, undoubtedly. 

As they traversed the sidewalks to a location Laney refused to reveal, Sarah seemed to be recovering some from the fresh air alone, that was until a small hand clutched her wrist jolting her to the right. "There, there," Laney repeated excitedly. "Come in with me."

Taboo Taboo, the sign read. A huge white streak in the front display window captivated her. Upon closer inspection, the streak which so readily kidnaped her attentions was a luxurious white feather boa. The base of each stalk kissed by the slightest off white smoke, almost a cream color.

"I knew you'd like it," Laney squealed dragging Sarah inside before she had a chance to complete her full inspection of the accessory. The most extraordinary articles lie inside, making the name of the boutique seem entirely appropriate, concoctions of lace and leather, satin and silk, adorned in feathers and beads, applique and ribbons of all sorts. "You'll need something for tonight," the brunette insisted.

Sarah was still taking everything in while Laney began holding this and that to her, hanger heads poking her hips and neck, a variety of smells coasting under her nose. A moment later, a blonde saleswoman with a tiny ring in her eyebrow came by to ask them if they'd like a changing room. Laney snatched at the opportunity and they were shuffled in the direction of the panel of dressing room doors. Sarah noticed the tiger eye stone which rode on the ring in the saleswoman's eyebrow as she asked sheepishly, "the boa in the window, may I..." her voice trailed off.

"You wanna try it on?" She sort of waggled her brow at Sarah. "I love when you business kinds stop in, always the ones pulling out all the stops. I've got a blue one on the floor. I'll be right back."

"No," Sarah stopped her. "I'd like to try the white if it's not too much trouble."

Seeming a bit bothered, she shook her head side to side anyway and took with her a small step stool wedged beside the dressing room stall. Moments later, an end of the string of snowy white feathers flopped over the door. "It's ninety if you want it."

"Thanks," Laney hollered back as she wrestled the cashmere sweater over Sarah's head.

"Do you mind?"

"Sorry, I guess I'm a little excited to have you coming out tonight and you seem into this for once."

"Maybe a little." Sarah debated in her own mind just how _into_ this she was while Laney gathered stockings at her feet and encouraged her friend to step in. They were a fine black mesh with a heavy fishnet pattern emphasized overtop. She was becoming a little more hesitant as the silk slip slid over her head. It came mid-thigh, not a length Sarah was accustomed to wearing. Figuring she might as well get used to it, because these clothes told her they wouldn't be going to the same kinds of clubs she normally chose.

Setting low on her chest, the slip barely covered her nipples, probably to allow for a lower cut over garment. Just below her bosom was a two inch strip of satin which caught Sarah's eye. For a brief second she admired the way it hugged her, showing her slim figure, until Laney lassoed her with a mixture of lace and wires, shouting, "Deep breath."

Complying begrudgingly, the day time attorney sucked in oxygen, puffing out her chest. Laney lifted her breasts with the underwire cups of the bodice, quickly cinching a hook in the back of what appeared to be a corset. "Suck it in," came the second snapped request. Again, Sarah complied and a second hook joined at the small of her back. The tightness was quickly replaced by a knee and Sarah held to the wall just to keep her balance. A red ribbon was laced up the fittings at the back of the garment and pulled tight to hold that shape which Laney had molded with her simple instructions.

Bulging, Sarah's breasts threatened to flee the garment, but she was afforded only brief seconds to concern herself with any immodesty before the air was forced from her lungs. She found her self holding a deep breath in order to preserve whatever precious centimeter of give the fabric would allow. With a broad smile, the ribbon was tied into a bow at the base of the her back and the victim in the dressing room was given ample time to feel the tight hug of the lace and upright supports around her rib cage. Turning she could see the satin ribbon on the back mirrored the strips woven into the lace in a vertical line below each breast.

"You don't expect me to go out in this, this, costume, do you?"

"Course not," Laney said picking her fingers through Sarah's hair attempting to restore the flair it possessed before the undressing and re-dressing smoothed it down. "You're going to need shoes."

"Are you crazy? Half of me's on display and the other half is only just barely covered."

"Sarah, you look fabulous. So you'll get a little attention, so what? You deserve it. Besides, whatever attention you don't want, us girls will make sure you don't get. We're a tight knit bunch and everyone's excited to have you coming."

"What will I wear on the bottom?"

Laney chuckled at her naivety, forcing Sarah into a chuckle so as not to seem completely out of touch. Nonchalantly, she stepped toward the stall door, snaking the white feathers over her shoulder. It didn't go with the outfit at all, but it felt natural around her, scintillating to her exposed flesh, like soft, cool lips against the warm skin at the back of her neck. Though she'd never owned anything with feathers attached to it, not even a duster, it felt familiar.

With little gentility, Laney pulled it from her shoulder, "Nah, it won't go with the boots."

"You already have boots picked out?" Sarah questioned.

"Nordstrom's and they're perfect for this outfit. Our next stop."

Pulling at the neatly tied bow above her rump, Sarah began to get back into her street clothes. "Well let's hurry up before I change my mind."

* * *

Nordstrom's was unusually packed for a Saturday and the older ladies shopping there were reacting with obvious suspicions and hushed commentary to the girls with the bags from Taboo Taboo clutched in their fingers. Steering Sarah into the Gucci section, Laney plucked a pair of red boots from the shelf. For an instant she let herself believe they weren't the ones her friend had pre-selected, until she bothered to notice how well the red of the boots matched the satin ribbon which had confined her in the girdle earlier. 

Surrounded in an elongated octagonal design, Sarah thought they would clash with the fishnets, but Laney seemed confident they would be the perfect match and so she agreed, now beginning to feel rather like a Barbie doll Laney was playing with. "What size may I get you miss?"

"Seven and a half," Sarah answered.

"Eight," Laney contradicted. Sarah looked puzzled. "Leave room for the socks." Sarah had no idea what her friend was talking about, but she wasn't about to start disagreeing now. She indicated the new size to the salesman and handed over her MasterCard.

A taxi took them back to Laney's apartment. Upon hearing they weren't meeting the others until 8:30, Sarah requested a nap. Request granted, she slept soundly on Laney's couch, while the enthused brunette showered and threw together some wild greens and a grilled chicken breast for dinner. Two and a half hours later, Sarah awoke to the sound of Laney cursing over a small nick she'd put in her left index finger while slicing the chicken.

"Soups on," she said through a fake smile, "only there's no soup."

Stretching off her stiffness, Sarah moaned "Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

"If I expect you to keep up with us youngsters, I know you need your nap."

The response which first rushed to Sarah's head was a cruel and heartless one. Taking a moment to shake off her sleep, she rather responded comically. "You're right, maybe I should pop a Geritol before we leave."

"Come eat before everything gets cold...warm...cold. Oh hell, before the warm bits get cold and the cold bits get warm, come eat."

Sarah was impressed with the salads Laney threw together, the homemade vinaigrette dressing, the soft, warm bread sticks. "I didn't know you could cook."

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

"Like the fact that you regularly attend fetish clubs?"

"Not regularly," Laney winked. "Neo isn't a fetish club. Sure it's not mainstream, far from top 40, but..." she searched for the right words. "You'll see, you'll enjoy it."

"Neo huh?" Thoughtfully she examined her fork, "Well I suppose there is no spoon then."

"Funny," Laney patronized.

Stabbing at her dinner once more, she asked, "So will everyone be dressed like us?"

"Not everyone, most. Some more extreme than us, others dress in themes. It's a diverse crowd."

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"Oh stop, you have a bad feeling about wearing white shoes before labor day."

"With good reason," she said definitively.

"Sarah, there's only one rule about fashion these days, and that's that there are no rules. Formalwear isn't just for formal occasions, suit coats go with jeans, punk rockers wear ties, women wear men's clothes and in certain circumstances the reverse is true. White shoes are just white fucking shoes. No fashion police patrol is going to come around hacking off the feet of any person foolish enough to wear white pumps this weekend."

"True as all of that may be," Sarah explained, "I work in a professional setting and certain things, for me, for my colleagues, are unacceptable."

Laney sighed, "Well you're off duty tonight counselor and if by some strange chance you run into one of your work cronies they'll have just as much explaining to do at the water cooler as you, so crawl out of that argyle box you've trapped yourself in and let loose for once."

"Alright, alright, I've already agreed to go and I've let you dress me up and you were thoughtful enough to choose red footwear."

"I know and there you were totting that horrid white boa."

"Horrid? Do you really think horrid?"

"I've never been much for feathers."

"I'm not saying for you, I'm just saying...horrid?"

Thinking it over a bit, Laney decided, "Yeah, horrid." Sarah's face sunk a little. "Look sweetie," she soothed. "If you like it that much, go on and get it." Picking up the plates she carried them to the sink. With all the clinking of silverware and Corelle she managed to hide her second comment. "Just not around me." Returning to the table, she ran a damp cloth over the marble top. Catching Sarah's eye, she asked her obviously daydreaming confidant, "Should we get ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Now that's the spirit," she said pulling Sarah from the chair and ignoring her actual answer for the one of complete compliance that her head heard.

Once more Sarah allowed her friend to torture her as she had in the dressing room at the boutique. The boots took a bit of getting used to, the heals tiny pins against the floor beneath her. A fair period of wobbling preceded any sort of comfort Sarah had perched on them.

Laney turned a leather bustier held to her chest, painted on black leather pants clinging to her lower half. "Did you remember the socks?"

"Huh?... No," she admitted remembering what she'd said in Nordstrom's.

"Zipper this," Laney instructed spinning around. A quick tug on the pull and she was in her drawers hunting a pair of short, but thick socks for under those boots. "Here you go." She held them up victoriously before chucking them toward her friend. "It'll make all the difference in the world."

Sarah took the offering in her left hand while using her right to clutch Laney's wrist and turn it so she could see the smudge of India ink on upper arm. "When did you get that?" she asked when the smudge turned out to be the leg of a black widow shaped spider permanently drawn on a six inch patch of her bicep.

"My twenty fifth birthday present."

"Were you drunk?" Laney shook her head. "So you actually wanted someone to do that to you."

"Not just that, I paid them to do it."

"I'm sure it's not the only thing you've ever had to pay for," Sarah commented playfully.

"Bitch!"

"Slut!"

"Jealous!" Laney ended the game. She was very good with sharp comebacks and Sarah often took her hat off to her old friend when it came to verbal combat.

When she again shoved her small foot into the gapping void that was the oversized shoe, it pained her to admit, but the socks really did improve the comfort tenfold and dramatically increased her control as well. A few paces across the wood floor and she was easily pivoting on those pin point heals and adding a semi-seductive swagger to her hips. Emerging from her bedroom, clad from breast bone to big toe in leather, Sarah gasped to see Laney in a way she never had before.

The usually meek, miniature brunette seemed towering, even more slender than usual, her bosom swelling twice it's normal size. She had a confidence not usually attached to her. A confidence Sarah envied, for hers had been struck as of late. Even at work, Irmscher was giving her long monotone speeches about her naturalization rates. Admittedly she had cut back on her client relations and a few impromptu invitations to lunch or dinner were probably overdue. Then there was that Cogburn case, the one she'd used to assert herself with her insensitive lout of a boss in order to keep her date with her brother. Irmscher pulled her from the case when she returned to the office Monday morning, citing her inability to dedicate to a matter due to her personal problems.

Personal problems, what would he know about personal problems? For more than a decade now his secretaries had purchased every birthday, anniversary and Christmas card he'd sent. The very idea of him facing his own personal matters was ridiculous, let alone him helming any family crisis. It was nothing more than one of his countless attempts to belittle her. Make her feel like putting family first was somehow compromising, and maybe it was, but maybe it was the kind of compromise that human beings made. The kind of compromise someone like Irmscher didn't understand. His whole life he'd been compromised for and she was asking him to do a little of the compromising now, chances of that seemed slim. She vowed that if she learned nothing else from tonight, she would regain some of her confidence. By Monday next, she would be back at her A game and carefully manipulating her boss into making compromises he didn't even know he was making.

"Ready?" Laney asked once more, something in her face revealing this had not been the first time she'd posed the question.

Sliding her hand over the bottom lip of the corset she was wearing, Sarah breathed in deeply. The transition to the thin fabric which covered, albeit barely, her lower torso and thighs was nearly seamless. Truth of it was she was proud of how she looked. Summoning a few notes of a favorite song in her head, she took a few tiny dance steps in the boots. Head and feet seemed to be on friendly terms this evening, communicating in a perfectly equable manner. A huge sigh prefaced her conveying her willingness to follow through with her friend's lunacy. Like a child in full tantrum, she attempted to clutch the doorway as they exited Laney's apartment and then laughed off her temporary foolishness. "Kidding, I'm kidding," she mused. Thinking the whole way to the lobby she'd never wanted more for an elevator to get stuck between floors as she wanted right now.

'Damn,' she said silently when the doors parted and the glass of the lobby showed her the busy sidewalks. Outside the fresh air seemed to settle her nerves if not her stomach. "Which way is it?" she feigned interest.

"Are you serious? I mean you do feel those stilts on your feet don't you? Sarah if we walked, you'd being doing no dancing of any kind once we got there. We'll take a cab."

"And everyone else?"

"Only three, two of which are sisters and roommates. You'll recognize them, they look very much alike, but one's got a phenomenally bad dye job, that's June. The other one's April. Their parents were hippies." Laney flagged her hand, just as a taxi drove past and he screeched to a halt before them. The women loaded in the back seat.

"Where to?"

"Neo," Laney told him. "On Clark, just past Lincoln."

"Yeah lady, I got it." Starting the meter, under his breath he muttered, "I should have known," as he eyed them in the rear view mirror.

Her companion may not have heard, but Sarah had. Observing his disheveled mop top and patchy facial hair growth, she couldn't help thinking he had a lot of nerve to cast aspersions their way. To make matters more sketchy, there was that strange smell she hoped was coming from outside the cab.

"So that's how they got their names. So don't ask them because they're awfully sensitive about the whole thing. June swears she'll have a legal name change done the day after her parents are gone, but April's more comfortable about it, at least when the sisters aren't together."

Attempting to seem as if she'd been diligently listening the entire time, Sarah agreed. "I can see where you'd feel awkward being named after the month you were born."

"No," the leggy brunette rumpled her button nose making her look like a nervous rabbit in an open field on the edge of a hawk's nest. "The month they were conceived. I was trying to avoid just saying, but, well, there I've said it. Try not to bring it up tonight, okay?"

"Trust me," Sarah promised, "it won't be a problem."

"So then there's Dina, I work with her. She's in the lab, lucky bitch. I miss the lab. Now she's a little overweight, but she's pretty secure about it. Best dancer among us. While the rest of us are cursing the invention of the corset and various shoe manufacturers who we're sure are men scorned by women and seeking revenge by crafting the most uncomfortable footwear, Dina's wearing a hole in the dance floor and laughing at the lot of us. You two will get on well, I'm sure. She's divorced too."

It was meant as small talk, filling up the time in the cab before the self righteous lump behind the wheel could start some obligatory string of conversation with them, but when the sentence hit Sarah's ears it set off a reaction to rival the most advanced chemistry experiment. "So, what, you think we should know each other? Like being a divorcee is some elite club with less than 23 members in the Chicago area. We meet once a week to discuss advances in microwave meals for one and bash the helpless romanticism of Jane Austen novels, while we pin voodoo dolls of our ex-husbands and exchange cookie recipes right before the ceremonial end of meeting group hug."

Taken aback, the twitching rabbit behind the driver, now felt as though she'd been run through and butterflied open by the hawk with whom she shared the backseat. "I just meant these are people you don't know well and I thought you would like it if you had something in common you could discuss."

"Because I'm going to discuss the details of my divorce with a stranger? Hi whatever the hell your name is. My name's Sarah and seven years ago my husband left me in hopes of finding a more fertile woman to fuck."

Hoping that sucking in air immediately after her announcement would suck with it the words that had caused a grave silence in the cab, Sarah held her breath.

Less muttered, the driver pulled up to the curb in front of the club, "Don't know how you expect to get pregnant with all those tight clothes the two of you wear?"

"Shut the fuck up!" the girls demanded in unison as Laney fisted a few bills in his direction before scuttling out of the cab after her friend who was now headed in the opposite direction. "Sarah! Wait!" she called.

"Hey, you're thirty five cents short." Plucking the coins from the small bag she had looped to her wrist, Laney dropped them in his sweaty palm. "What? No tip?" the driver asked.

"Awe," Laney said seeming almost regrettable. "You noticed." Her tone was doused in sarcasm and lit by the blaze in her eyes as she slammed the back door shut and took off after her companion.

Before she could begin to coerce Sarah into staying, the Gucci boots approached her from the shadows. "I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to introduce me to your friends at all."

"Why wouldn't I want to introduce you to my friends?" she asked rhetorically, a wide smile revealing her perfectly aligned white teeth. "I'll tell them you're a raging alcoholic with aggression issues and then maybe they can stop asking me if I'm anorexic."

"But you eat more than adult men three times your size."

"Thanks, I think."

"Let's go, before I change my mind," Sarah said as she slid her arm through Laney's and clicked her heels in even rhythm against the grey pavement.

Any question which remained about why Laney had chosen to tie her hair back in a low, tight ponytail was answered when from the waistband of her pants she pulled a leather police cap and positioned it atop her head. "Did you bring your handcuffs?" Sarah mocked.

"Don't make me use my night stick on you."

A bit louder than may have been necessary for two women traveling at matching pace and separated by only a few inches, Sarah couldn't resist egging her on. "Police brutality. Police brutality."

"Shut up," she warned her. "You'll get us thrown out."

"How can we get thrown out when we're not in yet?" Her increased sense of timing and cheeky humor let Sarah know something was changing in her already. She felt more fun, more alive than she had in years. The dark alley leading to the club was cool and calm, stone walls on either side, she was completely at ease, full of exhilaration.

By the entrance to the club the three women Laney described in the cab stood waving their hands frantically. A nod from Laney brought them to their attention. "Remember what I told you," she said through a plastered smile as they approached. "Hi guys," she sang. "This is Sarah."

"We've heard so much about you," April offered a hand. Sarah shook it and thanked her politely.

Dina leaned in. "Damn, you're as malnourished as Laney is."

"Not really," she patted her tummy. "I just bought a corset that was four sizes too small."

"This one's gonna do fine, just fine," Dina told Laney.

"You must be June," Sarah surmised of the woman who had yet to speak. Her hair was incredibly short, brushed forward and bearing a wide strip of bright red over her crown. Immediately, even the dimmest person in the Midwest could have sensed her hesitation, her lack of enthusiasm which stemmed at least partially Sarah was sure from her failed experiment in hair color. It was not an emotion Sarah was terribly unfamiliar with having, or with giving off. The sole lamp hung above the entryway highlighted a painting on her left shoulder that seemed to creep over from her back. Seeing the opportunity, Sarah kicked in the door. "Laney tells me," the brunette froze, flicking her head in Sarah's direction when she heard the lead in, "you have a rather interesting tattoo. I was thinking of getting one. Would you mind showing me yours?"

"No," June smiled. "Not at all." When she spun around Sarah could easily see the design spanned her entire back and onto the other shoulder as well. Artistically it was pretty amazing, even if the bit about her wanting one was a lie. Her fishnet body stocking had been cut out in the back to expose the majority of it.

"Stunning," she told the woman. "Really very attractive on you. But I don't think I have the patience or the frame to pull something that fantastic off."

"Stunning? Really? It took almost a month to finish," she explained. "Well it wouldn't have taken as long except I didn't have all the money up front." June admitted. "You could start with something smaller. Something like this." She lifted her right leg at the knee to expose a smaller marking on her ankle."

Sarah winced, thinking about needles piercing the thin skin over her ankle bones. "I don't know," she chuckled. "I kind of always thought I'd start with a dot, you know one of those earth from really high up kind of tattoos that I could add onto for years until it really turned into something special."

"Yeah, I was scared my first time too," June said, wrapping her arm around Sarah and queuing her up behind April and the others.

Behind them Dina shuffled up, introducing herself to Sarah. "I hear we have something in common," she announced.

"Oh yeah," Sarah agreed. "We both got rid of our husbands the _hard_ way." When Dina cocked her head and furrowed her brow, she continued. "It would have been less paperwork to just have them knocked off."

For a moment nothing, the lab technician stood motionless, poker stiff expression from ear to ear, but it lasted only briefly before she broke into a hearty and contagious laugh. "I was going to say we were both from New York, but you make a valid point." Her firm hand struck Sarah's back knocking her off kilter a bit.

"Which leaves only you to be April," she deduced. Glad she had not had to meet the sisters consecutively out of respect for their insecurities.

"So it does." She smiled warmly, "but I hope it doesn't disappoint you to learn that I have no tattoos, nor have I been married, nor have I ever visited New York, let alone lived there."

"Not at all," Sarah chuckled. "In fact it takes great pressure off me to impress you then."

Laney was proud at how well Sarah settled in with her friends. Despite Sarah's self doubt, Laney knew she was quite good with people and expected, when it came time, she would warmly welcome the strangers and quickly set them at ease. Which she had.

Inside, very near the entrance was an older woman, probably trying to hold on to her mid forties, but more like having waved them goodbye or hidden them under Micro Dermabrasion and hair dye. She waltzed to and fro, greeting the people coming through the door as though she worked there, but Laney quickly confirmed she did not and was only apt to perform as such because it made out of towners ask to take her photograph as well as provide easy introduction to the men attending the club.

She wore black and white. Her shoulders were bare and forced back. Above the right side of her corset, a blue ink tattoo which Sarah didn't bother to closely examine. She was already put off enough by the way she reached behind her back to hold her free arm, leaning into everyone and over annunciating her name. "Hi, I'm Heather. Welcome to Neo."

Dina was mocking her as they made their way to a clear spot on the dance floor. It was loud. The girls were shouting just to be heard despite the tight cluster they kept to. Under the lights it was easier to see their outfits. June's fishnet body stocking was covered by a black leather skirt and a cupless corset that laced in the front and in the back. A filled in harlequin in the fishnet covered her nipples and not much more. Around each of her delicate wrists was snapped a black leather band. Her throat was encircled by a red leather collar, trimmed in black. It all went rather nicely with her hair.

"Would you look at that?" Dina pointed to an open area not far from them. A man was stepping forward, two leashes in his hand. From either he unlatched an attractive woman. One, oriental in appearance, wore a thicker red collar, the other, a thinner black collar. The red collared woman was shorter by only a few inches. Like June, she had black hair, streaked red. Her bodice was leather, strapped and buckled over her shoulder, the cups not very supportive, made of soft black leather. The ribbing a little more sturdy, marked with red and zippering up the front.

The other showed more leg, her outfit one piece. A mini skirt, V-shaped panel of red laid into her bodice, accentuated with wristbands which stretched half way up her forearm and boots that came within inches of her knee. What made her most noticeable was the incredible flare at the corner of her eye, a trick of plucking and shadowing that made the brow appear to break and fan out into her temple. It was such an attractive detail, she craned her neck to get a better view.

Engaging in a hypnotic and seductive dance, the woman circled one another, calm, cat-like, moving closer with each round. When at last their bodies met, it was jaw dropping indeed. They moved to the heavy rhythm of the industrial melody. The arms of one enfolding the aura of the second while she arched her body, winding like a snake in varying degrees of altitude. As the second hovered her lips above the first, she took over the role of the charmer while the first began to snake. If there were eyes not turned on the two they must have been closed because theirs was a performance unable to be looked away from.

Sarah admitted to a hot flush staining her cheeks, but the others took it rather in stride she thought. Making sense of it was June's whisper. "They do this all the time. Show offs!" There was a definite jealousy in what she said.

Clasping hands, the duo left the stage, their faces as stony as they had been when first the stage was taken. Dina squealed, grabbing Sarah in one hand and June in the other, dragging them into the open where it was dance and blend in or don't dance and face humiliation.

From the sidelines Laney and April looked on. April looked elegant in her purple and lace bodice and black pencil skirt, elbow length gloves reaching up her arms, heeled sandals showing off her pedicure, a silver choker hung around her neck making her bronzed smooth shoulders look even more sun kissed. Next to a police woman clad in leather, she appeared almost tame.

"Honestly Laney, I don't know what your friend said to my sister, but that's the first time in weeks I've seen her dance. Look at her, she's completely into it, dancing as though no one else were here."

"I told you Sarah was pretty amazing."

Hands raised to her hips, April contradicted her, "Amazing, she's a fucking miracle worker if you ask me."

Following the rather simple instructions, Dina had been kind enough to provided, Sarah closed her eyes, bent her knees slightly, and worried less about how she should be moving her body so much as she let the music move her.

Three minutes in, all eyes had turned to her. She had been positively possessed by the rhythm and the graceful wave of her arms, the sensual roll of her torso, the lascivious pumping of her legs made the outfit and matching boots completely unnecessary catalysts of her sexuality. Sarah was lost in the music, as she always found herself lost in music, only deeper, further than she'd ever allowed herself to wander before.

Even when a pair of distinctively male hands slid up her silk skirt and burrowed their fingertips beneath her corset, Sarah seemed oblivious. More so she leaned into his touch, undulating against him in as tantalizing a performance as the leashed ladies had given earlier. Her hands slid up, reaching behind, clasping his neck. He cupped her bosom and she gasped. Though the initial contact didn't shock her into musical sobriety, Laney's rushing to her side did.

"Ashton?" she asked in surprise. He was a new hire with her company. A real rogue around the office. All the credentials of an accomplished engineer, none of the stereotypes.

"You know him?" Sarah asked shocked.

Explaining the situation, Laney performed the introductions. "Ashton, this is my good friend Sarah. Sarah, this man with his arms _still_ around you, is a coworker of mine, Ashton Price."

Even at her notation of his prolonged contact the man did not move away, nor did Sarah ask him to. Rather she turned in his embrace, taking him in. Something about his eyes distracted her. She had to blink before they'd tear away enough to notice the moustache and goatee that framed his perfect mouth. Ashton arched his eyebrow, a smirk curling his lips as Sarah reached for his spiked ruddy blonde hair. "It's so short," she sighed.

"Excuse me," he leaned his ear to her for clarification.

"I said it's nice to meet you."

"Likewise. You're quite the dancer."

"You're not bad yourself," she smiled. She was flirting, rather shamelessly, she admitted, but Ashton was not the kind of man Sarah was used to meeting and so she justified reacting to him in a manner in which she wasn't used to. "You work with Laney?"

"Do you find that hard to believe?"

"What do you do?"

Toying with her, he offered, "I'm a janitor." She looked at him in a state of confusion stuck between belief and suspicion. "Is it still so nice to have met me?"

"Do I seem so very shallow to you?"

"No," he smiled, "you do not. I'm an engineer."

"You're an engineer?"

"Does that surprise you?"

Shaking her head she admitted, "Surprise me, no, but I bet it surprised the people at the firm."

"Right you are. But there's not much they can do when you're father's best friend from childhood is the president of the firm. Even less when your father happens to be the judge handling said president's third divorce." He rose his pointer finger to his lips coyly, whispering, "sssh," as he did so.

"At my firm, we'd call that a conflict of interests."

"And what firm is that?"

Raising her glance to him from the corner of her eye, Sarah shyly replied, "Sidley Austin."

"Well, we're getting off to a great start."

"You know what they say," Laney interrupted nervously. "What happens at Neo, stays at Neo."

"Something like that," Ashton responded. Then, quite unexpectedly, he bowed low, kissing the back of Sarah's hand and while refusing to release her stare, addressed the group. "Have a lovely night ladies."


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all my readers for all your support and comments on and off of I love that you guys are asking questions and making predictions and really getting into the story. Here's another lovely bit for you to enjoy!

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"All I'm saying is you were lucky it ended up being someone I knew and it didn't hurt you to have had the four of us looking out for you; otherwise, Lord knows what would have happened to you. It was like watching someone completely entranced." It had been nearly fifteen full minutes of Laney's berating to which Sarah had remained silent. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been?"

And there was the truth of it. Even if he came with references, there was something about Ashton which was dangerous. Perhaps it was the brazen way he stalked her, laying his hands upon the more forbidden zones of her body without requesting or receiving her permission to do so. Maybe it was the feral spiky hair, the goatee, or the wicked dissimilarity of his eyes. Whatever the characteristic that made Sarah feel like she wanted to run to him and from him simultaneously, it was something which the good Samaritan who lifted her wrap outside her building did not possess. It was further sensory evidence she had settled for Tim, played it safe. He may have been all things attractive but yet nothing which normally attracted her.

"Are you paying any attention to me?" Laney demanded.

Sarah sighed, hoping that at 35 she'd won freedom from these kinds of discussions. "I wouldn't have been as careless."

Softening, Laney's attitude switched from protective parent to giddy girlfriend, "So you liked it then, didn't you?"

"I did."

"And Ashton?"

"What about him?"

"Do you want me to set you guys up?"

Sarah chuckled. "I think I can handle that on my own. I was thinking something subtle. Me, you lunch, _accidentally _bumping into him while I'm at your building."

"Not a problem," Laney confirmed. "He takes a smoke break at 12:30 everyday when he leaves for lunch. I suppose I could take a late lunch one day next week."

"Well if it won't throw you off too much."

"For you, I'll make the sacrifice." There was a moment's pause. "He sure is good looking isn't he?"

"I don't judge men on their physical appearances. Woman don't like being judged that way so as a woman, I try not to judge others."

"You're right, he's nothing special...for a god! Sarah, seriously, are you going to tell me you don't pick up on the stench of sexuality that permeates from him?"

"The Harlequin world of romancers could have used all that poetic wording, but you wasted that brilliant mind of yours becoming an engineer. It saddens me."

"I calls 'em as I sees 'em."

Sarah's neck twinged like a prairie dog picking up a rattlesnake in the sand. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'I call them as I see them.' It's a common enough expression. Surely not the first you've heard of it?"

"No, I just couldn't hear you over the sirens."

Laney rushed to her window. "Jesus not a fire I hope."

"No, ambulance."

"So lunch, Monday, 12:30, my building. I'll meet you in the designated smoking area."

'Of course he's a smoker,' she thought agreeing to the plan her friend had concocted. She was perpetually attracted to men who she had nothing in common with.

* * *

It was another of her imbedded defense mechanisms. Pick the guy you can't have, making not getting him or losing him less painful. It had been that way for her since high school, setting her sights on some impossibly bad boy who had no interest in a straight laced honor student who spent her free time in drama club. Occasionally one of the objects of her affections would ask her out hoping to find a wolf beneath her sheep's clothing, but glumly disappointed when they found otherwise, there were no repeat performances. 

In college she'd had only a boyfriend or two prior to meeting Tim and they were everything he wasn't. The first, an art student whose parents were putting him through college. Very dark, very ketch, very I'll never be happy so why try. They'd dated for three weeks before Sarah grew bored of evenings at home barely speaking, listening for the world to call to them and trendy beatnik clubs filled with snapping poets and black velvet.

Then there was Larry, only he insisted upon being called Law, because he 'brought justice to anyone who crossed him.' He was in college because his parents refused to allow him to drop out. So he'd learned to make a profession of it. Still a sophomore at 22, he drove around town on his Harley, leather jacket, dark glasses, all cliché. When it came down to it, the same thing that attracted her to him in the first place was what made her call it quits a little more than a month later.

Serge came from money. He didn't worry about classes because he knew his surname would get him a passing grade in almost any course. Dropping several hundred a night was no problem for him, in fact he once commented that Sarah was a cheap date when the cost of their activities on a particular evening failed to exceed his minimum two hundred dollar mark. Those three months Sarah learned how to drink without getting a hangover, tasted more kinds of food than she had in her last three tours of the Taste of Chicago and she handed her virginity over to an experienced but dissatisfying lover who actually made I statements during sex.

Then there was Tim. Something completely different. All sports coats and leather shoes, a briefcase rather than a knapsack, wire rim glasses, good manners, perfect English. Not American, the honest to God Queen's English, accent and everything. Sarah was a sucker for a well spoken man and despite every other revolting goodness about him, he had taught her the most. He had taught her that love and being in love were not the same. That the feeling of loving someone was not enough to build a marriage on and, he had shown her that just when you think you can't, you probably could, if you reached down deep, you would succeed at whatever it was you needed to do to survive.

Ashton wasn't quite like the others though. Certainly not like Tim. Smooth like Serge, though Sarah suspected that he might have something to back up the sensuality his presence gave off. As dangerous as Law without the lack of ambition. As dark as that art student, whose name was trifling to her now, only more intriguing than repelling. Laney wasn't wrong when she called him good looking, and he knew it. Something about him was cocky and arrogant, normally Sarah found men like that snobbish, but Ashton struck a nice balance with it. He intrigued her and no man had done that for a very long time.

* * *

Monday morning there was a spring in Sarah's step as she swung her hips to the music pumping into her ears through the buds from the mp3 player. It was quite the unconscious swing, but not unnoticed. He watched her. Every weekday, the same time, he waited in the shadows just off to the side of the building's main entrance. Enamored by her. Afraid to look away for fear he would miss a step, a toss of her hair, a half smile no one else noticed. It was her gait he recognized first, letting his eyes run up the length of her legs, noting the way her garments seemed to perpetually accent her behind, the fitted waist of her jackets, the polished peach of her skin and the bouncing locks of her raven hair. When she moved, angels sang to him. What it was about her, he couldn't say exactly, but he knew he had to do something extraordinary if he was to get her attention, something no man in her history had ever done.

* * *

"Nettie," Sarah said leaning over the wall of her secretary's cubicle, "can you pop in for a minute?" 

"Yes Sarah." She'd grown comfortable, at last, with addressing her boss in a less formal manner. By the time her briefcase was in place and her laptop up and running, Nettie returned with a steaming cup of coffee, exactly as Sarah enjoyed it most. Her secretary set the cup down on a coaster on the desk and sat poised, steno pad balanced on one knee, pen at the ready in her hand. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to reestablish some connections with some of my old clients, the one's I haven't seen in awhile. Now," Sarah brought up the calendar on her laptop. From what I can tell, that means a lunch with the Gallagher's…Tavern on the Rush…they're late starters, better make it for one o'clock. See if they're available next Monday. It also means Dunhoff with the contractor's firm. He'll give you the line about being too busy to meet during the day. Lout. Insists on having drinks." A moment of brilliance hit her. "N9ne! Tell him I want to meet at N9ne and for drinks and caviar, any night but Friday."

Watching her boss eye the screen, she asked, "Anyone else?"

"I'm sure there are. I've been wretched with all this pd shit for awhile now."

"I could compile a list of everyone you've done repeat work for who you haven't contacted in more than three months," Nettie offered.

Sarah's brows popped up, "Excellent idea. If it's not too difficult, could you cross check them with the conflicts and make sure they're not being romanced by someone else now. The last thing I need to do is step on toes."

"No trouble at all. I'll have everything for you by the time you get back from your lunch with Ms. Cass. She's called twice today to remind you not to arrive until 12:30."

"That girl has an unhealthy obsession with time."

It was a nervous smile that contorted her boss's face as Nettie rose and slipped out the door to return to her work. Sarah flipped through her email. Something from Toby, she'd read that later. A handful of ads and spam, delete, delete, delete. An associate looking for work. He'd have to keep looking. Children's Services, they needed representation in a custody case. Sarah dialed her contact. The phone rang endlessly as it often did there. While she waited, her eyes scanned the rest of the email. Rowan Farthingale, what on earth could Toby's fiancé want with her?

"Children and Youth Services this is Eldora. How may I direct your call?"

"Eldora," Sarah said sweetly. "It's Ms. Williams from Sidley. How are you?"

"Fine Ms. Williams, fine." Years ago when Eldora was just another battered victim of a husband's heavy hand, Sarah helped her and her daughter to get free of him, beginning by relocating him to county jail so the girls could relocate themselves somewhere he couldn't lay a finger on either of them. "It's been so long since I've heard from you. I think of you every day, every day. Lily graduates this month. My baby, graduating high school. Makes a mother proud and a body old." She chuckled.

"Lily's graduating. Where do the years go?" Sarah asked. "Please do wish her my best." Quickly she emailed Nettie asking if she would remind her to get a card and send it to the center in honor of the girl's milestone.

"I will Ms. Williams, I certainly will. Did you need to speak with Miss Trish?"

"Yes please, Eldora."

"One moment," the kindly receptionist offered.

"Oh Eldora," Sarah said quickly.

"Yes Ms. Williams?"

"I'm going to be out that way to help Miss Trish very soon. I'd like to take you and Lily to dinner, if that's alright with you."

"I'll do you one better Ms. Williams. When you're out here, you can come to our place and I'll make you dinner. It'd be our pleasure to have you and fatten you up some. I'm surprised you don't fly away in the wind as little as you are."

Sarah chuckled, "I can't say no to that. It's a date then."

"Yes ma'am, I'll get you Miss Trish then. You take care now."

"Thank you Eldora."

Wearing a big smile, Sarah glanced back at the computer when Nettie's reply popped up in the lower right corner of the screen. She double clicked the notice revealing the usual 'will do' reply. Deleting that message brought up a list of other unopened items. Rowan's email drew her eye again.

"Sarah?"

"Trish, good to hear your voice, but bad to hear from you I'm sure."

"Oh Sarah, I wish I could call you with good news every now and again, but I'm kept so busy by what goes on here I only seem to manage to call when something's going wrong." Her voice shook, not like she was crying, but like she could at any moment.

Comforting the woman on the other end of the phone, Sarah offered, "Don't worry about it. I'm an attorney, I'm used to only hearing from people when it's not good news. Now tell me what's happened."

"We've been helping this woman with a custody case for about a month now. She claims the husband was abusive to the child, an infant boy, but he's got no bruises, no medical history. But you can't just dismiss something like that." Sarah scrawled notes on a yellow legal pad all the while dropping syllables of recognition into the receiver. A few 'uh-huh's, a couple of 'I see's. "She's just a kid herself, eighteen, married straight out of high school while she was six months pregnant. I hate to say what I think. It may not be true, but…"

"Just tell me what you think Trish. Between you and me, off the record."

"Well I'm not meaning to criticize, I mean I would do anything in this world to hold onto my baby…"

The shaking voice, the stuttered words, all led Sarah to ask cautiously, "What is it you think this woman did?"

"He kept threatening to sue her for custody, claiming she wasn't mentally ready to handle being a mother and since he was older than her, a lot older. He told her he'd have no problem getting custody. She was a wreck. Just after that we got this report. We investigated her, she had the basics, maybe not the best of everything, but enough. Her intentions were good. That's when she started telling us he abused the baby. We promised to help her get legal representation, but I feel like such a jerk to even think this, but…"

"You think she's lying, don't you?"

"I do, God forgive me, but I do and I feel terrible putting you in this position, but I didn't know who else to call." The tears she'd been fighting back through the whole call broke free now.

"It's alright," Sarah tried to ease her. "I'll meet with this girl. I'll indicate that lying to me would be ill advised, considered perjury in court, may even cost her the child she wants so fiercely to hold on to. It's out of your hands now."

Trish wailed, "That's just it Sarah. It's not. Courts make the wrong decisions about custody all the time. I see it every day. Children awarded to parents who play Mary Poppins in court only to become mommy dearest at home. The children wind up here again, bruised, broken, in body and in spirit. The ones that don't end up at the morgue Sarah. It just happened last week. The courts gave him back to his mother, he was three. She left him outside, unsupervised while she was inside getting high on Lord knows what. He hung himself Sarah, in a rope swing in the backyard. His name was Richard. I helped him on with his coat when she came for him. He hugged me goodbye and I handed her his things, she smiled and I was happy. I was happy to see him go home with his mother." Whatever else she meant to say grew incoherent at that point.

Plucking a tissue from the box on her desk, Sarah wiped at her own running eyes. "I'm sorry Trish, but you can't blame yourself."

Taking a deep breath, she replied, "I know. I do, I really do, but I can't help feeling sometimes like they're my own when I send them out that door. I mean I've spent so much time with them, providing for them. I love them sometimes as much as I love my own son and when I think about these kids, especially Richard, he was my grandson's age and it's so unthinkable, so damned unfair."

"It's not fair Trish. It's not. But let me handle this one, okay. Try and take it easy, maybe take some time off to go and visit your son. It might do you some good."

"You're right. You're always right."

"You know you can always call me right? Even when it doesn't have to do with a case."

"I couldn't impose."

"It's no imposition." She gave Trish her home phone and her cell. No one should have to go through those kinds of things alone. "Now this girl, give me her contact information so I can set up a meeting and I'm serious, let me handle this."

Trish agreed. She was too worn out from what happened with Richard to put up much of an argument. "I'll fax you her file. That'll have everything in it and thanks Sarah, for everything."

"You're welcome." Nettie was in her doorway looking anxious. "Take care of yourself," she remind Trish as she hung up the phone. "What is it?

"Attorney Irmscher called for you, he said, 'I don't care what she's doing, tell her I want her in my office in five minutes."

Already out from behind her desk and straightening her suit Sarah asked, "Did he say why?"

"No he didn't, but you know how his ears get really red when he's angry?"

"Are we talking that'd make a nice shade of lip stick or fire engine?"

"Fire engine…four alarm."

"Jesus," Nettie handed her the pad and pen she'd been using and Sarah walked swiftly and professionally to her boss's office. "My secretary said you wanted to see me."

"Shut the door and sit down." He was staring out the window into the horizon. He didn't turn to look at her, only waited until he heard the door close and then began in a gruff tone to criticize her for the fifth time this month. "I know when you were an intern it was important for you to be well liked, when you became an associate, you had to win over the partners and I was always impressed with your personal touches Sarah. I liked that you did charity work, you came off as just one of the guys here at the office, but you're a partner now and the things are different. You're setting precedence for the others."

"Meaning?" she asked him defensively.

Falling into his high back leather chair and plopping his chins over the bridge of knuckles across the back of his left hand he questioned, "Do you know what my secretary referred to me as this morning?" She didn't assume, only waited for him to inform her. "Bill…Not Mr., not attorney, not sir, Bill. I don't even go by Bill in my private life. And do you know why?" Sarah shook her head innocently. "Because the girls in the pool are all talking about Nettie and how her boss insists she call her by her first name. Now some of the associates are opting for that as well."

'This was what he called her in here for,' she thought as she set her notepad aside. "Nettie was always so nervous around me before I cut the tension. Her work was standard at best, now she's a whiz. I don't have to correct her letters, my calendar's impeccable. She's working on practice development meetings for me right now. I don't care what she calls me as long as my work's getting done." The more she spoke the more she found him ridiculous. Wasn't he the one questioning her dedication only last week. Hadn't he said, 'whatever it takes to get the job done Williams, whatever it takes'?

"Sir, not meaning to be disrespectful, but last week when you called me in here, you said 'whatever it takes to get the job done,' well Nettie does the job better when she's not so nervous she can barely stand in my office without her knees clapping. Further more, if you don't mind me saying, but have you ever considered why every two weeks you're getting a new secretary from the pool and not a permanent one?"

"I do mind," he said. When he looked away she saw his ears, four alarm for sure. "This is a professional office and I will not have secretaries milling about addressing me as if I'm their bridge partner."

"And I respect your choice," Sarah said. "But it works for me and Nettie, so please respect my choice to allow my secretary to refer to me as she pleases."

"She works for you!"

"She works with me."

"Sarah, you either put her straight or I will."

His ultimatum left her little choice, Nettie would take it better coming from her. Sarah stormed out of his office as quickly as she had stormed in. Back at her secretary's desk she paused. "What is it Sarah?"

"Nettie I need to … um … I need to talk to you about something." She felt like a child, picking her fingernail and nudging the partition with her toe.

Finishing up the line she was typing, Nettie looked up, all smiles, "Shoot."

Irmscher was on his way down the hall, no doubt come to make sure she followed through with his orders. "This is a law firm Nettie, a place where people have come to expect formality and professionalism. We've all got to deliver it, every time. Now I know I had asked you to call me Sarah." Irmscher was there, lurking around the bend, just out of Nettie's sight, the coward. "I was wrong to do that," Sarah pressed on, but he looked so happy, in the shadows, so content, so victorious. "From now on Nettie I want you to refer to me solely by terms of endearment." That threw old Bill for a loop she guessed, focusing only on Nettie as she went on. "You know, hun, sweetie, dear, babe, whatever strikes your fancy. And when I get a call from my buddy Bill I want you to peek over your cubicle wall and shout, hey, you, Bill's on the phone and I'll stop whatever I'm doing because I know how important Bill is."

The door to her office slammed shut. She could hear Irmscher in the hall, the heavy trod of his feet. "What do you think you're doing?" he barked when he threw open her door.

"Bill," she said cocking her head and jacking her feet up to the corner of her desk, "here's the way I look at it. You can waste more billable time taking this to the committee and having me written up for insubordination, but the income I bring into this firm pretty much guarantees I won't be fired, or you could deal with the fact that your secretary calls you Bill. I've been to the pool and I can tell you from personal experience, they call you a hell of a lot worse than that."

His finger hung in the air like a levitating pork sausage as his chins stacked up supporting his gapping jaw. Sarah sat coolly, flipping her hands behind her head, daring him to spit out whatever outrageous thing he might, but a blathering collection of vowel sounds cascaded from his open mouth along with a light mist. Frustrated he left. Nettie ran in as soon as he was out of sight.

"What was that all about?"

"Change Nettie, it would seem that Bill has a problem with change." They both enjoyed a hearty laugh.

* * *

'Shit, shit, shit,' Sarah echoed in her head as she dodged bodies left and right in her hurry to get to Laney's building. "You're late," she heard Laney say when she finally got there. 

"It's 12:28," she said looking at her watch.

"I know, I'm just so used to saying that to you." Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Now he'll come out that door any second, so face me and act natural. Tell me how your day was."

"My day, you wouldn't even believe my day if I told you."

"I'll believe it even less if you don't."

"You make a valid argument," Sarah engrossed Laney with the stories of Trish and Eldora, of Irmscher's outburst all while Laney took long drags on her cigarette. Jealous of the way she did it so elegantly without seeming trashy or manish, Sarah couldn't resist watching her, studying her. "Then there was this email from Rowan."

"You're brother's fiancé? What did it say?"

She said half day dreaming. "Damn I never read it."

"He's here," Laney squeaked, "act natural."

"Give me a cigarette."

"What?"

"You heard me, give me a cigarette."

"You don't smoke."

"And I'm not about to start," Sarah wagged her hand until Laney placed one ultra light 100 in her palm.

"Oh yeah, this is natural," she said as her friend pinched it between her fingers like a joint and held it to her lips. Laney lit the end. "Well you've got to inhale a little bit."

Sarah did her best, but even the one quick puff landed her hacking. Water came into her eyes as she did her best to suppress the cough. Examining Laney's delicate fingers and mimicking her grip on the cigarette she was holding, Sarah continued their small talk. She asked her friend if the male specimen in question was watching. In fact, he was not, not that Laney could tell anyway. "Why not just go over and talk to him?"

"Are you nuts? I don't even know him," Sarah protested.

Laney took a long smooth drag on her cigarette, "Yet he performed your monthly breast exam the other night?"

Eye's widening, Sarah swatted at her friend before placing the ultra slim 100 between her lips and pulled out a mouthful of smoke until her cheeks bulged like a hungry chipmunk, held it until her face was green, then expelled it full into Laney's face in one great puff. Laney waved her hand. "Just hold the damned thing. Now explain to me, why you can't just go over there and say hello."

"It's his job. I gave off all the signals. It's up to him to interpret them and make the next move."

"Oh, he's moving alright," Laney told her. Beginning to straighten her clothes and fluff her hair, Sarah was grossly disappointed when her friend clarified, "He's going back in. Really Sarah, what's with going all Sadie Hawkins? It's the twenty-first century woman, we can club them and drag them back to the cave now."

"I know, I know," Sarah whined, snuffing out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray, "but I'm a traditionalist."

Butting her smoke too, Laney offered some advice, "Well Ashton is not. He's into assertive women you dolt, that's why he was attracted to you the other night. If this is really what you want, you've got to loosen up a little bit."

* * *

Her fingers drummed over the mouse as she looked at it one last time. **Rowan Farthingale**. There was no subject line, nothing to hint at what might lie inside, but she'd successfully managed to ignore the message for a day and half. It was time. Pensively she double clicked the left mouse button and the message enlarged before her on the screen. 

_My dear soon to be sister - in - law:_

_I hope this isn't too inconvenient a request; however, the day of our wedding is fast approaching and as is so often the case in matters like these, the brunt of planning the event has fallen to me. Nothing against your brother. He is a kind and thoughtful man who wants nothing more than for me to have everything I desire most, hence his turning over everything to me._

_Alas I've learned a nervous bride should never be given sole dominion over her own wedding. It is my sincere hope you would have a small amount of time to contribute to the planning of the festivities. I already have the most important things taken care of. We have the location, the photographer, a cater and an officiant, but I wanted to arrange a fairytale theme for a fairytale moment and Toby insists you are the expert in that department._

_Please call me at your earliest convenience, but I beg you, do not leave any messages on our home phone. I'd like to be able to surprise your brother…some. It would be best, if you don't mind, to ring my cell at 708-555-0927._

_I anxiously await your call._

_Rowan_

"Is she joking?" Sarah asked no one out loud. "Help her plan her fairytale wedding, hmpf! I barely know this woman and she wants me to…" Then it hit her. It wasn't that she'd be doing something for Rowan so much as she'd be doing something for her brother and despite how she normally treated him, Sarah knew Toby deserved better from her. This wedding might be Sarah's last chance to do something sweet for him. Begrudgingly she lifted the receiver of her phone and dialed the number for Rowan's cell.

"Hello?"

"Rowan?"

"Yes."

"Rowan, it's Sarah, Toby's sister?" Her head fell fast toward her hand at the amount of insanity which came across with that introduction. "Listen I've been really busy with work, but I'd like to," she swallowed hard, "help you plan the wedding." Silence on the other end. "If that's still what you want?"

Still silence. Sarah glanced at the phone display. Their connection was still intact, she hadn't bumped any of the conference or hold buttons. Then she heard something. It sounded like a puppy, a tiny whimpering not being done directly into the phone, but certainly coming from the other end. Hunkering down Sarah listened intently to the receiver when Rowan finally burst through with enough force to shatter an eardrum. "Oh Sarah," her voice quaked. "You've made me so happy. I'd begun to doubt you would call, but here you are and yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes. I would still very much like for you to help with the planning."

'I didn't think it would mean this much to her,' Sarah thought feeling a bit smug and in control after the reaction she'd received.

"When can we get together to go over things?"

"Uh," she stumbled, thrown off for a moment, "well, this week is bad for me."

"The weekend then?"

"I've got plans and it's too late to cancel, would next week be too late," Sarah asked flipping the page in her week-at-a-glance.

Enthusiastically Rowan selected a day from the following week. "Monday?" After all why wait.

"I have a lunch Monday which will probably mean my being here very late."

"Sorry to hear that, well," there was some rustling of papers, "I'm free Thursday night."

"Client dinner."

"I assume you have plans for the weekend?" Rowan asked.

"I do." Which was a half truth. While she'd hoped she would have plans for the weekend, nothing had been confirmed. "But my Sundays are always free." Of late her Sundays were reserved for recooperation but if it needed to be she would forego drinking next weekend.

"Sunday it is then."

Sarah sighed, "That's the 12th. That won't be too late for you."

"Nonsense, I would rather stay up for the full forty-eight hours before the wedding giving it final touches with your help than comfortably have everything completed weeks in advance without your hand in it at all." There was a sound of sarcasm to what she said and how she'd said it, but Sarah wrote it off.

In her head she repeated, 'Its for Toby…It's for Toby…' while she said to Rowan, "Should I come out there?"

"No, no," she rushed. "I'll come to you."

"That's right. You want to surprise my brother."

"Indeed, how's 11:00?"

'In the morning,' her head screamed. After a Saturday night at Neo Sarah rarely saw the conscious world before 12:30. "11:00 is fine. I'll email you directions."

"No need, I have them from Toby."

"Oh, ok…" she hesitated, "guess I'll see you next Sunday then." Rowan hung up without saying goodbye. Replacing the receiver to it's carriage, Sarah sighed. "That was odd."

* * *

Before then, Sarah wouldn't have admitted she'd had any obsessive compulsive disorder, but by the following Saturday night when she stood outside Neo's doors in a pair of red leather pants which just barely showed the silver stiletto heal and black toe of a three hundred dollar pair of Mephisto four inch pumps an open back, black shimmering top, she realized she'd begun a cycle. Monday through Friday, she had crossed town at exactly 12:17 to watch a man smoke a cigarette and then Saturday night at 8:30 she caught a cab with her best friend after having bought a new outfit all in the hope she would see him there. 

Sipping her rum and coke, she rotated her head looking for Ashton, while the girls were trying to shout pieces of conversation to her over the pounding bass. "Someone you're looking for?" June asked.

"That guy from last week I'm sure," April added.

"Ashton," Laney mouthed to Dina.

"What does she see in him."

Laney shrugged. "All I know is it's the first guy she's shown any interest in seven years and I'm sure as hell not going to discourage her."

"Be that as it may Laney my love, I come here to dance, not to sit around waiting for men to find my friend's friend." On her feet in the next beat, Dina had them, like she had them that first weekend, both Sarah and June. "Come on ladies, they don't call it a dance club for nothing."

It took Sarah a few moments to find the rhythm in the music but once she had, she was even more captivating than she had been that first night. It would have seemed the music she heard ran through her, possessed her.

She was glistening with perspiration by the second verse as the little groups in her immediate area began to circle around her, everyone fighting to get a view. It was another plane, complete freedom, and Sarah who normally would have shied away from being the center of attention was eating it up. The open back of her shirt exposed her flexing muscles, she'd become a human art exhibit.

People were crowding around now trying to see what excitement was going on inside that circle everyone had formed. When they repeated the first verse, it was a familiar face which came crossing the crowd to observe the woman at the focus of half the club.

When he slid up beside her she smiled over her shoulder, welcoming him. Ashton returned the smile, taking her immediately into his arms and swaying with her as the music changed.

The way their bodies met, pressed against one another, her thighs wrapped over his, his hands cupping her buttocks would make it virtual impossible for them to keep up the shy act on Monday at lunch.

The song went on for a full two minutes after the lyrics stopped and the couple kept themselves entwined, moving along in time. Onlookers still in full gawk, it was like watching a live sex show, but Sarah didn't push him away, even Laney didn't run to the rescue. They were a train wreck, a beautiful, magnificent, hot train wreck. As the song drew to a close, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaned in as if he would kiss her and mouthed, 'come with me.' Then, without giving Sarah a chance to rejoin her friends, Ashton whisked her to the bar and bought her a drink.

April looked back to Laney, "How come I never meet men like that?"

"I don't think another one like him exists."

* * *

"So Sarah Williams, you've made yourself quite a regular here." 

"How'd you find out my name?"

Ashton half smiled at her as he lifted his glass to drink from it. "I'm a quick study," he replied handing her a glass of her own. "Go on," he encouraged, his eyes devilish.

Sarah sipped the dark liquid inside. "Rum and coke," she smiled. "How'd you know?"

Leaning in, his elbow against the bar, Ashton supported his distinctive chin in the cradle of his palm. "I have my sources."

"Any of those sources have first names?"

"A true journalist never reveals his sources."

"Ah," Sarah said, sipping at her drink, "but you're an engineer."

"So I am," Ashton admitted, slyly cupping the hand Sarah dangled over the edge of the bar. "Then I suppose I must confess to spying your business card in Laney's office this morning."

"Spying huh?"

"Well not really. I delivered some results to her office and her Rolodex was open to your name. Sarah from Sidley, it wasn't too hard to put together, even without Watson."

"What about my drink?"

Fingers slipping between hers in a perfect braid, Ashton pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "I could smell it on your breath when we were dancing."

At that, Sarah stopped breathing, the air seemed to hitch in her throat and solidify. His face was so close to hers she could have kissed him with relative ease, but she couldn't remember how. Completely under his spell, she only tilted her head, mesmerized by his eyes and waited as his smile faded and his lips pressed to hers. It was like a butterfly dancing on her lips, like the wind, like a dream.

It was like opening something that had been vacuumed packed when they separated. Sarah felt the air seeping slowly back into her lungs as her chest inflated. A full twenty seconds passed before she opened her eyes. Ashton sat there, sipping his drink as though nothing extraordinary had happened. The rum and Coke felt cool against the lips he'd set on fire, so much so, that sipping quickly gave way to chugging and she emptied the glass.

"Would you like another?" Ashton asked. Sarah shook her head. "At this rate," he chided, "I'll never get you drunk enough to get your phone number."

From a back pocket of her leather pants she pulled out an ID case. Withdrawing a card from behind her licence, she turned it end over end before lying it on the bar and sliding it in his direction. "Since you're so fond of my business card," she told him. With as little warning as Ashton had given her, Sarah got up and left the bar to rejoin her friends.

* * *

"He did what?" Laney squawked when Sarah finished spilling the details about her time alone with Ashton. It was like a bad episode of Ally McBeal where even though it didn't happen, Sarah's mind saw the entire club freeze and focus on her while Ashton leaned casually against the bar and smirked. 

Whispering this time she told her friend, "It happened so fast, well not fast at all really, but completely without my suspecting and the next thing I know I'm giving him my phone number."

Laney gathered her purse, having had enough of the club for tonight. "I don't like it Sarah, there's something about him I don't trust. Now I was just saying how I wasn't going to discourage you, but who does that sort of thing?"

There was one person. A man Sarah had dreamt up in the furthest reaches of her adolescent mind, an outlet for her frustrations. He was the only other one she knew who had a knack for seducing someone with a look. "He's what I've always wanted in a guy Laney. Aloof, mysterious, low maintenance."

Saying goodbye to the others they took a cab back home. "I just think you should be careful, that's all."

"I'm careful, Laney, I'm careful." Turning to face the window, Sarah bit her thumbnail. 'That's my whole problem,' she thought, 'I'm too careful.'

* * *

Monday came brutally quickly and the lunch date she'd scheduled with the Gallaghers prevented her traditional escape to see Ashton and Laney. For a few moments she'd considered jaunting across town for ten minutes just to jaunt back in order to woo her clients, but the idea of running whilst occupying a pencil skirt, a silk blouse and three inch pumps fled her subconscious for reasons of practicality. Instead she sat in her office, stacking pencils into a log cabin box waiting for the Gallaghers to arrive. 

They were a father and son duo derived from a father and son duo who was most likely derived from a father and son duo themselves. A long line of business men which meant contracts, contracts meant breaches, breaches meant court, court meant attorneys and that meant revenue. Law was a peculiar thing. Someone paid you to draft a bunch of mumbo jumbo which, in theory, kept you out of trouble, but inevitably trouble arose at which time you had to pay another attorney to decipher what the first had down and set it straight. Sarah would pitch it to him this way, 'Let us handle your contract drafting, a set fee on a per matter basis and when the time comes we have to take something to court, well I'll already have the background to get you through it. It'll cut your fees in half.' It was the beauty in having learned both contract law and litigation.

The rest of the afternoon they'd eat expensive cuts of steak and swill overly priced wine while they talked about the Cubs and the stock market. The key was to plant a notion and let them come back to seal the deal, pushing someone into a retainer was never very effective. Drop a few key phrases, you could be held liable…save on fees…more efficient. Make it personal, if it were my company, I'd want the added protection a lawyer provided…you wouldn't want to go to a new doctor every time you were sick would you? Then back off quick, before they realized it they were what was on the menu, not the steak.

Interrupting her rehearsal, Nettie paged in, "Sarah, the Gallaghers are in the reception area for you."

"Thanks Nettie."

Down one floor, through the elevator bank and to her left sat the current working generations of the illustrious Gallagher family. Robert, the father, earlier fifties, salt and pepper hair, debonair. Patrick, mid-thirties, auburn hair, free spirited. Robert was doing everything in his power to get Patrick to 'see things his way', but his son had modern ideas on running an antique business in today's world. It was a classic struggle.

"Gentlemen," she said, extending a hand and slinging her Gucci bag over her shoulder, "so glad you could make it."

Robert greeted her first with a firm handshake, then Patrick with a wanton glance and a compliment on her blouse. Used to the obnoxious behavior of younger clients who thought a female attorney had to log a few bench hours of her own to get anywhere, she readily ignored him and led the gentlemen to the main lobby where a cab was waiting to take them to lunch.

* * *

"Reservations for three under the name Williams, Sarah Williams." 

"Right this way ma'am," the maitre de said. When they'd been led to their table, he turned, and announced their server would be right with them.

"So Sarah, how's that son of yours?" Robert asked.

Flustered she replied, "I haven't any children."

"Sure you do, I remember him from years ago, you used to carry his picture in your card holder."

"That's my brother Robert, Toby. He's getting married in a couple of weeks actually."

"Marriage," the older gentlemen sighed. "a fine institution. I keep trying to get Pat married off, but he won't hear of it. I don't know how I'm going to keep my great, great grandfather's company alive if my son doesn't soon have a son of his own."

Patrick mumbled something under his breath.

Able to decipher most mumbles in the blink of an eye, Sarah piped up, "Why not train one of the girls to take over?"

Patting her hand, Robert offered, "Sarah, our family business has been Gallagher and Sons since it's incorporation, who am I to argue with tradition?" Sarah smiled, thinking it best if she kept her more feminist views to herself.

When the waiter made his way to their table he brought with him a tray of ice waters and wrapped silverware. It was good timing given the route their conversation was about to take. Introducing himself, Adolpho dished out the contents of his tray and went over the specials. When he was through, Robert ordered a filet, well done. Patrick asked if the prime rib was ready, which it was and Sarah ordered the delmonico, medium, much to the chagrin of the gentlemen accompaning her. "And a bottle of your best merlot," she added. "So, Robert," she leaned across the table looking very serious, since we're talking about your business..."

All in all, theirs was a successful lunch. Robert promised her three small contracts and a firm, "We'll see where it goes from there."

* * *

Toward the end of the week, Gallagher sent in his contracts, just as he promised. There was a good bit of editing to do. There was no clause for personal negligence, no trade secret protection from noncompete agreements. Frankly, she was shocked at how poorly they had been drafted. By the time she finished polishing them, there was no way Robert could be anything less than impressed with her. Tucking her red flair behind her ear, she leaned back to fold her legs under her in the chair. 

She felt so damned bipolar. Loving what she did, but feeling trapped by it had worn her down. Ashton, Neo, dancing, it made her feel energetic, almost indestructible, even if it was self destruction she feared most. "Ashton," she whispered with a sigh, doodling his name in the corner of one of the draft proposals like a juvenile preteen with her first crush on a boy.

It seemed of late Sarah couldn't concentrate on anything without thoughts of a certain engineer creeping in and taking control of her every thought. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the feel of his lips against hers again. In the middle of the day, she felt like sleeping, for once not from exhaustion, but rather with the hope she'd dream.

When the phone rang, it took Sarah a moment to determine whether it was an actual ring or a dream state. "Sarah?" Nettie asked.

"Yes," she said into the intercom.

Her secretary's voice lowered a few octaves. "Sarah, there's a Mr. Price on your line. He wishes to speak with..er..uh...the sex kitten he met at the bar this weekend."

"Oh Christ," she grunted. "Ah, I'll give him a piece of my mind."

"You do that," Nettie smiled through the phone. Sarah could hear her.

"Hello," the unnerved attorney said shakily into the phone. As if he could see her somehow, she fluffed her hair, sat up straight and swung her legs back under her desk.

Ashton seemed to nearly ignore her greeting as he went immediatly into a poetic compliment. "I can't help but wonder if you look as beautiful in a business suit as you do in a leather corsette."

"I wouldn't be able to give you an answer without being bias," she smirked.

"I'll take my chances," he replied. Sarah smiled so big her cheeks ached. "I hope you don't mind me calling at work, but you did only give me your office number."

"I'm surprised I had to give you my number at all," she told him as she twirled the phone cord with her finger. "What with your, what was it again, spies?"

Chuckling Ashton insinuated he'd called off his spies because he was fearful they'd steal her away from him. "So I took this mission on myself."

"And what is this mission of yours?"

"It's a very dangersous one?"

'Through dangers untold,' Sarah thought. Shaking her head she asked, "Dangerous?"

"Very." There was a grumble as he cleared his throat, "It involves open heart surgery."

"Are you sick?"

"Maybe a little. Have you ever thought about becoming a doctor Sarah Williams?"

She could feel his lips curling even through the phone. "I don't think so."

"Too bad." Ashton sighed heavily. "Here I am love sick, hoping you would be the one I could open my heart to and..."

"I'm clicking the submit button for my on-line PhD right now."

"Lucky me."

'Not yet,' Sarah smiled.

In the background he thought he'd heard a chuckle so Ashton waited a moment before finally making his point, "I was hoping we could go to Neo again this weekend."

"Well the girls and I were planning on being there."

"Um...yeah..." he hesitated. "Thing is, I was thinking it would be nice if I could take you to the club," pausing, Ashton awaited her answer. When none came, he further suggested, "And the one to take you home."

"Engineer, international spy, _and_ chauffer, my, my, my you do keep busy."

"8:30 then?"

"8:30," she smiled.

Nettie threw open Sarah's door, "Miss Cass on your second line Sarah. She says you're late."

"Late for what?" Ashton asked.

Out her lips came her thoughts, "Our date to oogle you."

"I'm flattered." Sarah's mouth hung open, embarrassed by her slip, words now fearful of falling from her gapping jaws without the preapproval of her mind. "I should let you go, Laney's obsessive about time."

"I've always thought so," she agreed, feeling comforted by his easy out. "Thanks for calling."

"My pleasure."

More than a minute passed before she remembered there was someone on the other line. "Laney?"

"Where are you?"

Chuckling, she pointed out the obvious, "You called my office and I picked up the call, where would that tell you I was?"

"It's 12:40. You're going to miss your daily portion of eye candy."

"You're adorable." Scoffing, she added, "For your information neighsayer, it just so happens I only now hung up with the devilishly handsome Mr. Price."

"And?"

"And he would like to accompany me out this Saturday night?"

"I thought we were going to Neo?"

"We are. Ashton said he'd like to be the one to bring me." Spinning in her chair like that school girl from earlier, "And he'd like to take me home."

"Isn't that nice," Laney forced. "So we'll see you there?" she asked without much caring.

Too excited by her own fantasies to care, Sarah giddily said, "Uh, huh."

"Right, well I gotta go then. I'm late for my lunch. This is gonna throw off my whole afternoon."

"Don't let me hold you up."

"Call you tomorrow," Laney promised as she hung up.

Before she could say okay, her friend was gone.

* * *

"Enjoy your dinner with Mr. Dunhoff," Nettie chided when she left the office. 

Looking up from the contracts, Sarah rubbed her eyes and raised her brows. "Couldn't I just get a couple of back to back root canals during a novocain shortage?"

"That bad, eh?"

"Worse," she groaned. Squinting hard, the contracts were neatly stacked and placed aside. "I guess I can't postpone it any longer." Her watch confirmed that. "Have a good night Nettie," Sarah told the older woman as she dragged herself out of her office chair.

Pausing by the door, Nettie offered, "If you'd like I could go with you. I mean if you're really dreading it that much."

"Nettie, I wouldn't put the girl who called me a lanky bitch in high school through dinner and drinks with Stanley Dunhoff, let alone someone I like as much as you. Go, before I come to my senses and grab you around the knees refusing to let you leave me alone."

"I appreciate it."

With half a smile, Sarah clasped her hand over the back of her neck and stretched her shrinking muscles. In a wall mirror by her door, she smoothed her rumpled hair and reapplied some powder, lipstick, a dab of perfume. Grabbing her purse, she mumbled something about tax deductions not being worth this and off she went. Down the elevators, out the door, walk the seven blocks, it would kill a little more time. What was it elite women declared as they strode into a room fifteen minutes after a party had begun, fashionably late.

Outside N9ne, she let loose a deep sigh. Her palms were colder than the door handle. "Stan," she sang when she saw her potential client inside the foyer, "it's so good to see you." Reaching to shake his hand, Sarah found his scotch soaked breath engulfed her as he pressed his still wet and sticky lips against her cheek.

"Miss Williams, it is Miss now, isn't it?"

"It is," she forced a smile. "Shall we find someplace to talk?"

His empty hand guided her by the middle of her back through the crowd and up to one of the neon illuminated bars. "What can I order for you?"

"Tanqueray." Definitive. Simple.

From behind the bar came the option, "Neat? Or Rocky?"

"Rocky, with a twist."

Nodding, the bartender left to make her drink, looking back over his shoulder in Sarah's direction. Smiling back, she tucked her chin to her chest and looked back from the corner of her eyes. Dunhoff leaned in mistaking her glance as being meant for him. "So, Sarah, may I call you Sarah?" Tight lipped she nodded. "Let's talk about what you have to offer me?" As he reached for her leg, Sarah slipped her purse over her knee.

"Thank you," she told the bartender when he brought the Tanqueray. They smiled slyly, both fully aware she was with a lout, she didn't want to be with. "Stan, if you don't mind my asking, why did you pull your representation out of Sidley?"

"Are you going to encourage me to get back into Sidley?" Dunhoff asked with wagging brows. The object of his poorly proposed suggestiveness remained stony. "One of these days, I'd like these business dinners of ours to be less business and more dinner," he admitted openly. "Hey there Mick," he called the waiter.

"It's Mig, like pig with an 'M'," but his sarcasm was wasted on the balding three piece suit.

"Sure, listen son, we'd like some clams, some mushrooms and a tray of caviar."

"For you Miss?" he asked when Stan finished.

Offended, he poked the crisp white shirt covering Mig's developed forearms, "We'll be sharing."

"Too bad," he said completely ignoing the geezer.

Dunhoff cleared his throat, "Truth is, I found someone with better rates."

"Stan, really, I've done my research. You've been to court six times this year. Four of those hearing resulted in a judgement against your company, costing you a grand total of over $3,581,000. That's put your insurance premium up by forty-eight percent. Where's the savings?"

Looking into the bottom of his scotch, Stan asked, "What does Sidley want to plug?"

"Look, let me get this pitch out the way and we can enjoy our food without all this work talk," she smiled. It wasn't so much that she knew how to play him well, it was that he was so easy to play. "Sidley is prepared to offer you more comprehensive insurance coverage for thirteen percent less than what you're paying."

Grousing, he object, "Not much of a savings."

"Wait. Your savings won't be obvious at first, but in time you'll see that you're paying less in court, fees, expenses, judgments. Contracting is dangerous business, accidents happen. At Sidley we understand that. We can negotiate limits into your personal injury responsibilities, negate unecessary coverage in your long term disability coverage. Your rates will decrease. In the long run you stand to protect millions by coming back to us."

"You're good at what you do, you know that?"

"If I didn't, Stan, I'd stop doing it." They clinked their glases, each polishing off their drinks. When he motioned for refills Sarah halted him. "A bottle of Cristal," Sarah ordered. "We're going to celebrate."

"I'll be right back," Dunhoff excused himself and made his way to the men's room. Sarah had traumatic visions of what he was going to do in there.

The bartender came back with the bottle Sarah had requested, "This is a three hundred dollar bottle of champagne," he reminded her.

"A small price to pay to get this night over," she sighed handing over her corporate AMEX card.

"Business?" he asked.

Sarah nodded, thinking, 'Why do I look desperate?' as her guest returned.

"Anything but," Dunhoff said pouring the champagne.

* * *

Friday morning completed his fourth week of watching Sarah show up every morning. He noticed her improved demeanor. It would have pleased him to think he'd had something to do with it. That his spark for life might have caught on after that day with her wrap. She was gorgeous when she was happy. It started with her smile and dripped all the way down to the toes of her expensive shoes. He'd been silent long enough. As she passed him, he coughed, nothing loud, barely a whisper. Enough to turn her head. The knuckle of his forefinger curled over his smile. Looking up at her coyly he made a more distinct "um, huh" sound so she would know he meant to have her hear. She gave him a nervous smile. It was good enough for him. Taking a few steps in her direction, he moved with purpose, slowly, stalking like a predator. Sarah ducked quickly in her building. With no prey left to approach, he switched his stride to something more ordinary and headed off.

* * *

It was 8:03 when Sarah finished pulling the short shorts over the lace stockings she'd wrangled into earlier. The shorts were incredible, hugging tight to her slim waist, accentuating her rounding hips. From the waist, downward in a V was sewn a cape of sorts. Full round at the waist band, gradually sloping to her thighs and then hanging along the outside of her legs, it rose up when she walked, swayed about her when she turned. It felt as amazing as it looked. Best of both worlds, something to show and something to leave to the imagination. Taboo Taboo stocked an off the shoulder pirate's blouse with flouncy sleeves and a mid riff. Over it she found a corset which laced loosely up the front, showing a bit of her flat tummy. Over her left eye a rhinestone patch. It wasn't a pair of hand cuffs, a leather collar, a riding crop, but it was as abnormal an accessory as she was ready for. 

Deciding between the Stuart Weitzman clunky boots, the Anne Klein pumps, the Taryn Rose stilettos and the Manolo Blahnik leopard prints took her right up to the very minute the door bell rang. "$1200 on shoes and I can't even find something that looks right with this outfit. The Manolos were on when Ashton arrived and truthfully the leopard print added more to the all black outfit than the other plain pairs did.

"You look amazing," he said when she opened the door.

"Same to you," she complimented looping her arm through his. The shirt he had on was soft, at least partially silk, his ripped abs far from concealed beneath the thin fabric. Downstairs when he opened the cab door, she couldn't help notice effect in the seat of his pants. "Thank you," she said lifting her skirt wrap and getting into the taxi.

On the way to the club, Ashton slid his arm around her shoulder and whispered more compliments into her ear, brushing his lips against her neck when she would blush and turn away. The cab driver nearly took out a newspaper machine and two college students by craning into the rear view mirror. Ashton opened her door at the club, his eyes hidden behind tiny dark lenses, Sarah had only his charming smile to distract her. That was enough. Stumbling into his arms, he caught her lightly and popped her onto the curb. Coming off rehearsed, it appeared more a gentlemanly gesture than a clumsy fall. They walked down the alley, toward the single beacon of light.

Laney, Dina and the calendar sisters waited by at the edge of the cone of light. Ashton and Sarah didn't stop. Too wrapped up in one another they only walked inside. Directly to the bar, they had a drink before monopolizing the dance floor with their live sex shows. Laney listened to all her favorite songs play. Covenant, Manson, Switchblade Symphony, nothing moved her. She watched her friend, watched her dance, watched her drink, watched her give it up to this guy in front of a building full of strangers. Several times, she'd seen those pale green eyes glance her way, but not once did she receive the slightest acknowledgment.

Dina and April danced on. May did her best to keep Laney company, to keep her mind off Sarah, but nothing worked. She was pissed and a blind man could have sensed it. When she saw the dynamic duo head for the door, just after one, she moved to cut them off. April was prepared to separate the feral cats when they collided, but rather Laney only leaned against the door, forcing Sarah to take notice of her.

Out of breath, Sarah's chest heaved as she spoke. "Laney," Ashton's grip of her waist prevented her follow through as she moved to hug her friend. She kissed the usually perky brunette on the cheek. "I didn't see you here."

"I was at our regular table."

Wobbling from the alcohol, the day time lawyer, night time vamp swished her hand, "You know me, I just get so caught up in the music I barely see what's in front of my face."

Laney watched them get into a cab, "That's for damn sure," she told the bouncer at the door.


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Racy bits and music from Chapter Six will be available at my website ( on November 15th for those of you over the age of 18 who would also like to read the adult version of this story.

**CHAPTER SIX**

Whether or not he knew the quaint little Italian place was closed even as he asked the cab driver to stop on the corner of State and Monroe seemed irrelevant to Sarah. She took Ashton's hand, accepted his arm and walked down the block with him trustingly. The disappointment he expressed when he saw they were in fact closed may have been feigned. It was, after all, nearly two in the morning. What was genuine was the way he held her, in the middle of the sidewalk, silently. Moonlight filled the street and the whole city seemed to be at rest.

"Who cares?" he said cupping her face. "It's a beautiful night. I'll walk you home from here." Closing her eyes, Sarah anticipated his kiss, but it never came. Instead he did as he had promised. Walked her home. It was only a few blocks and he walked slowly, seeming very contemplative the entire time, saying next to nothing as they strolled while thwarting Sarah's attempts to initiate conversation with a fleeting chuckle or monosyllabic answer.

With her building in sight, Sarah couldn't help but wonder why they'd had more physical contact at the club than he seemed to want to have with her now. There'd be a quick goodbye at the door, maybe a kiss on the cheek. See you next weekend he'd say. Maybe he'd call her in the middle of the week like he had Thursday. It was all so iffy.

"Sarah?" Ashton asked for the half a dozenth time

Shaking her head she tried to focus on him, "Huh?"

"I'm glad you came with me tonight."

"Yeah, yeah, me too," she smiled. He was holding her hands looking handsome and very awkward. This kind of thing was exactly what sent her running from most men, that feeling that you were more like their mother than their lover, that guessing whether they'd take you to bed or if you'd have to drag them there and that wondering if it was their mothers they thought about when they were there. But nice guy was a peculiar cloak to wear. On a nice guy it was drab, ordinary, but when a bad boy donned his nice guy cloak, it was irresistible, magnetic. She moved in. There would be a kiss tonight, if she had to draw it from his lips herself.

Ashton responded, tightening his arms around her waist and relaxing his posture. At the last second he dodged her lips. A soft press against her cheek. She sighed. Then, without warning, his grip tightened. The length of his forearm was along her spine, his fingers caressing the nape of her neck. Cheek to cheek he held her as he whispered, "Sarah?" questioningly into her ear. She couldn't speak, there wasn't enough air left in her lungs. Instead she craned her neck rolling her head against his feeling, the fresh stubble poking through his porcelain skin while the woodsy smell of his cologne alerted her senses. "I don't think I'm ready for this date to end. That is if you have no objections?"

She hadn't any objections and if she had she wouldn't have been able to make them. Ashton had caught her completely off guard. Loosening his grip, he met her eyes, waiting for a reply. "Would you like to come up for coffee or a night cap?"

"I'd like that," he smiled hooking her arm and walking her to the door. "Allow me." Swinging the door open, he caught the small of her back as she walked through and took his position gracefully by her side in the lobby. The night guard tipped his hat to her as they approached the elevator banks. Her stomach felt as if she were eighteen, trying to sneak a guy into the house past her parents. Every step was like a fire whistle blowing in her ear. Even inside the elevator Ashton kept tight to her side.

Commenting on the sparse dotting of doorways on her floor, Sarah seemed to impress him when she ended his confusion by explaining they were on the penthouse level. He gave a little whistle accompanied by a quick face. He held her wrap as she fumbled for the keys. When she finally managed to control her shaking enough to turn the key, he politely hung her garment up inside. Her bag and keys were placed on a side table near the entrance. "Well," she announced, stepping in and holding up her arms, "this is my apartment."

Ashton's eyes never left her. "Nice place."

Feeling her temperature change, Sarah hated to imagine her cheeks stained crimson and how foolish she must look. "Please," she said nervously, "come in, make yourself comfortable." She patted the back of a chair as he approached her, his stare still very intense, half to direct him, half to keep herself standing. "Can I get you something?"

Without replying he walked up to her, never breaking eye contact. "No," he smiled when he was finally toe to toe with her. Smoothly he stepped to her right, finally looking around at the apartment and making himself at home in the chair which Sarah was still using for balance.

It took several seconds for the message to move reached her feet, but Sarah did attempt to dart into the kitchen. A cool drink of water, maybe some ice down her shirt, that ought to calm her down, but before she could do more than pivot in the correct direction, Ashton had her by the wrist, pulling her to him, until she was on his lap in the chair, even with his eyes again, breathless, yet her chest heaved. "I have everything I need," he said as he traced the side of her face with his long, thin, well manicured fingers.

His mouth was warm, sweet with liquor. His lips were soft and that struck her as they kissed because so few men took care of their lips. Unlike her former suitors, his hands didn't roam, but touched her purposefully. His right arm stroked her face and neck, making her melt into him. His left slung low over her hip to balance her. She'd meant to kiss him back, but she was so caught up in the way his lips felt and the smooth caress of his tongue against hers she did little more than breath a soft moan and sink the fingers of her right hand into his hair.

Seemingly unflappable, he continued his patient manipulation of her even as Sarah's will power crumbled. Not only had she begun to return his kiss, but they'd been at it less than five minutes when she stretched over him and straddled his lap. She kissed him harder then, asserting herself and he entertained her for the time being by simultaneously entertaining himself with two generous handfuls of her rear. When he thought she'd had enough fun, he grabbed tight below her backside, along her inner thigh. Sarah moaned as he stood up with her, impressed at his strength, but then he tenderly stood her up, composed himself and asked, "Dance with me?"

Confused she ran her fingers through her hair avoiding his eyes which only moments ago seemed to say that this was what he wanted, that she, was what he wanted. "Um, OK." She went to the CD rack. "What are you up for?"

Following, he looked over her shoulder. Sarah had been out of circulation for some time, but not so long that she didn't know a few tricks. Her picture of Tim, her wedding bands, anything with puppies and kittens on it, anything that had polyfil shoved in and hearts sewn on the washing instruction tag had all been packed neatly in a Rubbermaid storage container and slide in the closet between two bins of winter clothes. Among them several aptly named chick flicks, her copy of the Labyrinth and a stack of CDS ranging from Air Supply's Greatest Hits to Billy Ray Cyrus's debut album. Achy Breaky Heart was not date music.

Smiling wide, she was patting herself on the back for thinking ahead. "Don't you have anything softer?" he asked kissing her neck and ruining the celebration she had going in her mind.

"I guess I just like music you can really move to," she countered.

"You can move to anything, if you know how," he winked. Slipping a CD out of it's spot on the rack, he slid it into the stereo and pressed the forward button a few times. What came from the speakers was far from a slow song, but as he pulled her into his arms, Sarah forgot to care.

He held her close, as if they were about to walk through one another. Even though the music was on the fast side he moved slowly, his thigh between hers and vice versa, rock left, sway right. A gentle friction was building between their bodies and it suddenly felt hotter in her own living room than it had at Neo. His left hand held her right hand lightly. He trailed kisses over her knuckles and looked her square in the eye when he caught her watching him. Moving his hand to the center of her shoulders he encouraged her to lie her head next to his. "See that, any song can be a slow song," he whispered.

"It's getting late," Ashton said as he kissed her hair. " I should go."

"Do you have to?" she asked weakly.

"No Sarah," he said slowly, deeply, more deeply than she'd heard him speak before. "I can give you anything you want."

"Excuse me," she stumbled, sure she'd heard him wrong.

"I can stay if you want."

Pulling him close so he wouldn't see the dazed expression in her eyes, Sarah admitted, "I do, Ashton. I want you to stay." She hugged him desperately, like any moment he might disappear. Ashton responded with a tight embrace of his own.

"You alright?" he asked warily when he felt her trembling.

"Fine, I just, well I haven't…" Looking out her balcony Sarah confessed, "I'm divorced and this…you, are the first real date I've had in seven years."

"I'm honored."

Sarah chuckled and gave him a half hearted nod.

"No really, I'm honored. I mean think of the circumstances that brought us to this very moment. First some horrible man had to let you go, then years of regret later he had to have the decency not to beg for you back. In the interim, all attractive men in a five hundred mile radius had to steer clear of you or develop some grossly unforgivable hygiene habits, drug addictions, or physical mutations to keep the most beautiful and intriguing woman I have ever met on the market until fate could bring me to her. It's a miracle I found you at all."

Swaying in his arms, now oblivious to what was playing on the radio, Sarah couldn't help think that he had a way with words. Even her best friend could barely get out two words about Tim before she got grumpy and defensive, yet a total stranger had managed all that and still had her attention as sharply as a spinning gold coin in the hands of a skilled magician.

"You don't even realize it do you?"

"Realize what?" she asked.

"How beautiful you are. Not just this body," he explained sliding his hand over her hips and up her sides, "but this soul," he indicated, drawing his right hand across her collar bone. "Inside and out, you are the most stunning creature I have ever seen."

At the compliment Sarah's mouth gapped slightly. She hadn't heard words like those in as long as she could remember, but Ashton's kiss kept her from thinking back very far. She could taste stale Marlboro smoke lingering. It should have turned her off. It should have had that whole licking an ashtray effect, but instead she found herself kissing him back with an eagerness she didn't know she had. When Ashton trailed his whispered kisses over her neck, Sarah could still taste him in her mouth and it was completely exhilarating.

A gentle puff of air accompanied the sides of her skirt as they fell back, Ashton had undone the knot. Suddenly those boots she had on felt like lead. She couldn't move. There was little doubt where this was going. Fear ran through her like ice water in her veins. It had been ages since she'd been with a man, none of who had come off with half the experience Ashton seemed to have. While she stood, panic stricken, expert hands smoothed over her skin. Swimming mismatched eyes held hers and before she knew what was happening, she was swept up, like a feather in the wind and she was floating, slowly up the stairs to the second story of her loft. The whole time seeing only those eyes.

When he lie her on the bed, she hitched a breath. "Ashton," she whispered.

He stood at the foot of her bed, kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning his shirt. Stopping the slow roam his eyes made over her body, Ashton snapped his attention to her face, "Yes Sarah."

Liquid, his voice was warm and rolling over her like a sudden increase in humidity. "I haven't been..with.."

"Sssh," he said softly, looming over her. Supporting his weight on one arm, his other hand unlaced her corset. "You don't have to make apologies, Sarah. All you have to do is tell me when you want me to stop."

Through his open shirt Sarah saw his defined chest. Lightly cut in, not too bulky, smooth on the edges, a patch of trimmed wispy hairs in the center. Her fingers trolled over Ashton's chest lightly. Maybe it was years of abstinence talking but something seemed right about him being here about their being together. Her fist filled with his lapel and she pulled him toward her. Kissing him hard. Ashton's arm slid around her pulling her up to him. With his free arm, he tugged the corset loose from her ribs.

Laying her back, Ashton took her in. Sleek, smooth, blushed skin, shimmering in the moonlight that snuck around the curtains. Shrugging his shoulders he got rid of his shirt. His cologne rose up in a cloud and filled Sarah's nose. He smelled so good. The way he looked at her made Sarah nervous, she was glad when his head dipped to her neck. She could feel the points of his eye teeth cold against her skin as he nibbled the cove of her shoulder, along her collarbone. His tongue trailed down her breastbone making her nipples go hard with anticipation.

Not wanting to waste her excitement, Ashton took the taut pink mound of her left breast into his mouth, sucking gently at first. Sarah arched into him and he increased the pressure, coupling it with a delightful manipulation with the tip of his tongue. As he switched to her right breast, Sarah felt his hand slip beneath the waistband of her skirt. When he saw the nervousness return to her face, Ashton distracted her by nibbling on her nipple. Sarah moaned and arched against him.

Beneath her skirt, he could feel a ring of lace just above her bare rump. Using both hands now he eased the waistband over her hips and slowly downward until the set of garters Sarah wore was revealed to him. Black, lace strands that held her stockings up over her thighs. "Very nice," he remarked, bowing his head to her stomach and covering it with soft kisses. Sarah could feel the pounding of blood accumulating in her sex as his mouth sunk lower and the disappoint of cool air filling the void as Ashton drew back. Eyes locked with hers he watched her reaction to his sliding one finger beneath the narrowing point of her black thong. Finding her wet and ready, he massaged her lightly. First the apex of her mound and then the tight skin around her opening. Her eyes went wide when he slid his finger inside her. He knew he would need to be gentle with her.

* * *

Sarah awoke to the smell of coffee and cigarettes. Looking at the sheet gathered around her near naked form she was instantly reminded of what had happened last night. "Well good morning," Ashton sang as he came upstairs with two steaming mugs of coffee, cigarette hanging out of the right side of his mouth. Sarah smiled weakly. "No sense getting shy on me now," he said when she pulled the sheets to her neck. He handed her the mug and set his on the bedside table. Relaxing some, Sarah plucked a glass coaster off her night stand and handed it to him for an ashtray. The coffee was too hot for her to hold so she set it down where the coaster had been. Ashton crawled in bed beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Sarah let her cheek rest against his bare chest. "You know, you had no reason to be nervous last night," he told her. 

"Wish I could say the same about this morning," she chuckled.

"Ah post coital paranoia," he laughed taking a drag off his cigarette. "Well I think you're just as beautiful right now as you were last night." He blew the smoke in the opposite direction from her, then lifted her chin and gave her a reassuring peck on the lips.

"Thank you," she yawned settling into him. It almost disturbed Sarah to feel so comfortable around someone, "but I feel terrible for falling asleep on you. I don't even remember taking my boots off."

"I did that. After we made love you fell asleep in my arms, I watched you for a little while, then I thought you looked terribly uncomfortable so I took off your boots and your hose and that sexy garter and then I wrapped my arms around you again and slept like I haven't slept in weeks."

"You took off all that, but left my panties?" she asked with a broad grin.

Ashton dragged his cigarette again, "I was trying to be a gentleman." He craned his neck when he blew the smoke out this time forming a trail of tiny circles. One encircled Sarah's head. "Look at that," he laughed, "I made you my Queen. Sarah my queen," he repeated trying to kiss her again.

"What did you call me?" she asked defensively.

Ashton looked at her in total confusion, " I called you my queen Sarah, like a goddess, a paragon of women, it was a compliment."

"Right, sorry, I'm edgy when I don't have coffee before," she strained to look over her shoulder at the clock. 10:45. "Jesus Christ!" she said jumping out of bed "I didn't realize it was that late."

Rolling on his stomach he watched her flit around the room cleaning up. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Next boyfriend due any minute."

"Don't be ridiculous," she ranted balling up her clothes and boots and tossing them in the cupboard. "I don't have any other boyfriends. My sister - in - law, well my brother's fiancé is due here in fifteen minutes and well, I don't want to have to explain anything to her."

She was still tidying when she felt his arms encircle her, the cold metal zipper of his pants against her abdomen making her realize she hadn't gotten dressed yet. "I'm glad," Ashton announced running his hands along her arms.

'What?' her face asked.

"I'm glad you don't have any other boyfriends. I don't want to have to share you." His palm caught the back of her head as her neck went limp and he kissed her passionately. "Now, you get cleaned up and dressed, and I," he told her taking the pile of stockings from her hands, "will tidy up and void your apartment of all evidence I was ever here."

Kissing his chest, then his chin, Sarah admitted, "I don't think that's possible."

Playfully he slapped her backside, "Get going."

* * *

She emerged in jeans and a flattering blue tank with lace trim, hair looking tussled and a light splash of powder over her crimson cheeks. From over the railing she saw Ashton washing the coaster he'd used as an ashtray. He couldn't be as perfect as he seemed, surely he had a flaw, but Sarah didn't want to bother looking for it. She wasn't thinking about marriage again, not now, maybe never. She was just thinking that she was lucky to have found such a considerate man to be the first to make love to her since her husband. Remembering how he'd told her "After we made love…" forced a smile that Sarah quickly shook off when the buzzer rang. 

"Ms. Williams," the guard said into the PA.

Depressing the talk button she replied, "Yes."

"A Miss Farthingale to see you."

"I'll be right down."

"That's my cue," the now fully dressed Ashton said as he jaunted for the door, a piece of wheat toast hanging from his teeth. Removing the toast, he kissed her at the door. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, breakfast is in the kitchen."

"What?" she asked disbelieving.

"You heard me," he said opening the door and pulling her through with him. "I whipped up a little something to keep your energy up." Smirking he popped the last bite of his toast into his mouth and pushed the button for the elevator. When it arrived, he looked around shiftily and shoved Sarah inside against the wall. Stretching, he pressed the lobby button. Then while one hand held her arms above her head, he slid the other up the side of her shirt and along the rim of her demi bra against her breast. Then he stood off to her left side and straightened his shirt. "Really woman, straighten up," he smiled devilishly at the shock on Sarah's face.

Sarah wiped at the corner's of her lips and pulled the bottom of her tank back into place as the elevator reached the lobby. Shooting a coy look out the corner of her eyes at Ashton, she exited upon his command of "Ladies first."

They split company a few feet from Rowan. "G'day miss," he said, tipping his head in her direction. She tried to bite back the grin, but failed miserably.

"Do you know him?" Rowan asked with a rumpled look of confusion noticing the way Sarah watched him walking away.

Sarah shook her head, "He rode down in the elevator with me." It wasn't a lie.

"You should ask him to the wedding?"

How uncomfortable? "Ah," Sarah sighed, taking note of the rolling shopping bag behind Rowan, "speaking of the wedding, why not come upstairs and we'll get started." She took the cart from Rowan and started back towards the elevators when she noticed one of the guards from last night at the security desk. He must have worked a double. Sarah blushed bright red when he failed to resist flashing a knowing smile in her direction.

* * *

Rowan stepped inside with a gasp, her hand fluttering about her neck, "Oh your place is gorgeous!" 

"It's home," Sarah said humbly, dragging the cart over the metal strip on the floor of the door frame. "Can I get you something to drink? I was just about to have bre…unch," she corrected looking at the clock.

"Do you have anything organic?" Rowan asked.

Sarah stepped in the kitchen noticing the plate on the counter. An omelet, two sprigs of basil making an X next to the O of an olive slice on top. Nibbling on the olive, she hid her glee by reading off the contents of her fridge. "I've got eggs, tomatoes, half of an onion, half of a green pepper, some left over turkey Tetrazzini and some crab dip I wouldn't take a chance on if I was you."

"Just some juice then," Rowan requested, rolling her eyes where Sarah couldn't see.

"Apple or cranberry?" Sarah asked.

"Neither," her guest refused when she saw both were bottled juices from concentrate. "I'll just have water." Sarah pitched her a Dasani from the door and pulled a fork out of the drawer for her omelet. "Egg yolks are filled with cholesterol," Rowan said absent mindedly as Sarah took her first bite.

It was filled with onions, green pepper, olives and chunks of ham. That explained where her leftovers from Wednesday's dinner had gone. It was delicious. Fluffy and cheesy. "Well, what can I say?" Defiantly she stuffed another bite into her mouth, "I love cholesterol."

"I'm just trying to look out for you. I went through the same things with your brother when we went all organic." Grabbing the cart from the entryway, Rowan made herself at home, spreading things all over the dining table.

Sarah joined her there, omelet in tow. 'She's a fine one to talk,' Sarah thought. After all, it seemed since she and Toby had gotten the house, Rowan had packed on an organic pound or two herself. "Well you won't convert me," Sarah announced proudly. "Not until Giordano's makes an organic deep dish special with extra organic cheese and organic sausage and California starts bottling an organic wine to wash it down with." Like a rebellious teenage who'd made a valid point in an argument with her parents, Sarah smiled contentedly, tucking her knees up to her chest. "So tell me what you've got and we'll put it all together."

Without realizing it, she was suddenly very into the planning of this wedding. Perhaps it had been her time with Ashton had done more to brighten her spirits then she admitted at first. But as she looked out at the sea of papers, fabrics, clippings and configurations masking the clear glass table top, she felt a pang in her chest. A desire to see her little brother happy and not from the sidelines, but knee deep in the heart of whatever would bring him joy, even if she didn't necessarily agree with him. This was her Toby, her dear sweet little Toby who she had grown to love, who she had invented worlds with, who she had mothered and raised and he couldn't possibly get married without her, it was unthinkable.

Rowan opened a planner and began her explanation. "Catering is taken care of. Location is chosen. Mostly we need to arrange decoration, favors, that sort of thing. The touches," she smiled. From under a book of fabric samples she hefted aside, Rowan produced a piece of fabric. "This will be my dress," she said. "I know it doesn't look like much here, but when it's tailored it looks great. I wanted to bring it with me, but they're seaming in the bustle."

Snatching the swatch from her hand, Sarah examined the silvery white satin. "I know where I can get some tulle that's got silver glitter in it and white lace. We'll twist it roughly," she demonstrated with some of the other fabrics on the table, "and braid it through a trellis."

"Where are we going to find a trellis this late?" Rowan asked.

"Leave that to me. I can get a aisle runner too and I'll get silver ribbons to make a decoration for the inside row of chairs." Her thoughts were taking off so quickly, she didn't notice the way she kept smoothing her hand over the fabric of the dress. Inspiration seemed to seduce her until she was coming up with easily a dozen ideas on how to embellish the wedding. "A carriage! I bet I can get you a carriage, an all white carriage, led by two all white horses. Would you like that?"

Beaming, Rowan nodded. Were those tears welling in her eyes? And why was Sarah feeling so happy to please this stranger, essentially. "I can't think of anything more like a fairytale than that."

"Look, if you like all these ideas, then leave it to me. Let me take care of everything and you go back to worrying if the green beans in the almandine will be organic."

"Do you mean it?" Rowan asked. "Oh that would be a relief. I mean there is so much to do what with the fittings and the hair appointments, the caterer calling every day insisting I'm being impossible when I say we need flan for twenty."

"You're having wedding flan?"

"Yes." She seemed surprised by Sarah's inquiry. "It's far more healthy than cake."

"I suppose it is."

"Is there something wrong with having flan?"

"No Rowan," she soothed, "it'll be perfect along with everything else. Now, I've got decorations, transportation and party favors coming. You say there'll be twenty, that shouldn't be too hard. You've got catering, dress, hair and location covered. I assume the two of you have purchased rings?"

"They should be back at the jeweler's Tuesday. They're being sized and engraved."

"Flowers?"

"Don't you think that's unnecessary?" Rowan commented.

Sarah feigned shock, "But what will us single women clamor for as you ride off with your prince charming, if not that bouquet. I'll take care of that too. Is there anything you're allergic to?"

"Not that I know of."

"Music!" Sara exclaimed.

"We've got a few instrumental CDs that will play softly as the ceremony takes place. One of Toby's friends has a twenty CD unit with shuffle feature."

As important as music was to Sarah she was shocked at Rowan's solution, "Let me hire you a band or a DJ, something more than a CD player."

"I can't impose."

Shaking her head, Sarah swore it was no imposition. "So we're set." She began packing up most of what was on the table but fumbled with the dress swatch. "May I keep this?" she asked. "For matching colors to."

Rowan nodded her consent and then gasped. "Sarah, your dress! I've forgotten all about your dress."

"Oh I'll find something."

"No, no, no there's already a dress. I've been meaning to arrange a fitting for you, but well, we had a rough go at first getting to know each other."

"So you picked my dress already?" she asked warily.

Lifting a blue satin box Rowan handed it to Sarah. "Go on."

Opening it, Sarah found a dozen or so sachets inside. They were overwhelming at first and reminded her of Christmas even though they smelled nothing like cinnamon. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what the scent was. "For the wedding?"

"Not exactly," Rowan told her, "more like for you for helping me with the wedding. I make crafts on the side for extra money, they're just some sachets. Drop them in your bureaus or in a bowl on the coffee table. They'll make a huge difference."

"I'll do that," Sarah promised putting the box aside with the swatch of dress fabric.

"It's also the color of your dress."

The box was deep blue, like a clear sky just after a storm and it had been dusted in a glitter to make it shimmer. "Not bad," she admitted. "I'm sure I'll love it."

"You're going to look sensational," Rowan promised. "It's sleeveless, the bodice is cut into a diamond shape and it ties around the neck." As her hands drew beneath her hair to imitate the neckline a medallion made it's way free of the V in her shirt.

"That's interesting," Sarah noted, reaching for it instinctively as if it were going to fall or something. It was a circle with another circle inside it and inside that circle a sun.

Tucking it back inside her shirt Rowan brushed off the intrigue, "Just some trinket of my mothers. Anyway your dress, it's quite form fitting," her eyelids batted. "Sleek to compliment your figure."

"It doesn't sound like it fits the fairytale theme you're trying for."

"Maybe not exactly, but, oh I feel selfish even thinking this," Rowan pouted.

Sarah's eyebrows jumped to the center of her forehead, "Thinking what?"

"Well you're so beautiful that, oh," she looked away, "if we put you in a spectacular gown well, no one's going to notice me at all."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said embracing her soon to be in law. "Everyone notices the bride." As she made small circles on Rowan's back she wondered how she'd gotten to the point where the physical contact didn't annoy her. Perhaps Ashton had lifted her spirits to impossible heights.

Rowan sat back, still holding Sarah's hands as excited as an adolescent with a new puppy. "Tell me what it was like."

"Well," Sarah begin, already her eyes clouding with reverie, "I was so young then and nervous, dear God was I nervous. I can remember Laney was helping me pin on my veil and my hands were shaking so bad the ribbon in my bouquet was rustling loud enough to drown out a jet."

"No, not that." Sarah rumpled her brow in confusion. "The Underground. Toby says it was the best fairytale he'd ever heard. He said you made it very real for him. Well he and I are about to begin our own fairytale and I want to make sure I meet his expectations. Tell me about the Underground and what made it seem so romantic to him."

"That was all an adolescent fantasy, something I drummed up to keep my mind off my divorced parents, my long distance mother, my witch of a step mother and her brand new screaming infant. It was all make believe." Sarah took her plate to the kitchen, tossing it a little too abruptly into the sink and taking a chip out of the rim. "Why would you base your marriage on that?"

"Oh Sarah," Rowan followed her. "Let me make us some tea."

Handing her a kettle, she watched as Rowan filled it and set it on the stove. "I have some herbal teas in my purse," she offered.

"Does Toby still bring it up?"

"What dear?"

"That story, does he still talk about it?"

"Now and again I suppose. He mentions a bit here or there, but it's always the same parts and always ends with, 'It all seemed so romantic.' Then he boasts about how you could tell it by heart far better than he could. If it upsets you," she wagered as she filled two tea cups, "we can talk about something else. I just thought that it might be nice to know my husband's favorite fairytale, maybe incorporate a piece of it in our story."

"I told you," she took her cup from Rowan and curled up in her living room chair, "it was all just a fantasy. None of it was real. How can you incorporate it if it wasn't real."

"Ah," she smiled over the rim of her tea as she sat facing Sarah, "but isn't it nice to just believe we can still have a little fantasy left in our lives? Doesn't the mere thought of something following through your childhood into your adult years comfort you?"

"Not really," Sarah said. Rowan's face grew long. She wished she hadn't developed this desire to help so much. "But if it will help you, if it will make Toby happy, I'll tell you the story. Sipping her tea once more she allowed the rich herbal blend to relax her tightening muscles. There were no reasons why she couldn't share the story. It was only a fairytale. Feeling foolish for being so defensive she began, "Once upon a time…."

Listening intently, Rowan sat motionless as Sarah began to weave the tale. It had occurred to her she could have just loaned this woman her book, but admitting she'd still had that thing was more than she was willing to do. As it was she felt herself really getting back into the story and that made her feel childish enough. Trying to remember how she imitated the voices of the goblins. "What no one knew was that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the girl…"

"How?"

"Excuse me?"

Rowan cleared her throat and repeated the question. "How had the Goblin King fallen in love with her? They'd never met before? What made him fall in love with her?"

"I don't know. It's a fairytale and all fairytales involve someone falling in love with someone else. In this one it's the Goblin King and the girl." The romantic notion of retelling the story seemed to fade rather quickly. "He falls in love with her and he gives her certain magic."

"What kind?"

Taking a deep cleansing breath, Sarah said, "I suppose it was her ability to call on him." At that Rowan sat back, interested again, more willing to listen it seemed. "If she said the right words, then he would come to her. He would grant her wish. Offer her the dreams no one else knew about."

"What was her wish?" Rowan's voice was dry, raspy.

Sarah got the feeling they were around a camp fire late at night. "She wished her little brother away to him."

"I can see why Toby was so frightened of this tale."

"I went after him," Sarah defended. Rowan raised her eyebrows. "In the story, the girl who wishes her brother away, she challenges the king. Denies her flights of fantasy, her dreams and agrees to work his labyrinth and win back the child he took."

"What's he like?"

It was all playing on a reel in her subconscious, a movie in her mind. "He was magical. Ethereal from head to toe, afraid to touch him for fear he'd disappear. A crown of feral blonde hair, bejeweled clothes, golden emblazoned eyes, mismatched. His hands hidden behind gloves, his boots rose to his knees. He wore breeches and doublets, capes and an amulet. A large, semicircular amulet. He could produce crystals at his command perched on his finger tips become anything he imagined, in less time than it took to blink. He was music when he spoke. He was the wind when he moved. Jareth." The name but a whisper as it left her lips, struck her. She hadn't said his name since she was still a girl. Sarah caught herself looking around fearful she'd summoned him somehow.

When she caught Rowan looking at her like she was crazy, Sarah found herself trying to hide the guilt behind frustration at all of Rowan's questions. "Listen, I really don't remember the story like I used to," she lied. "He comes, the girl challenges him. She meets some little friends. They beat the labyrinth together and she defeats the king to get her baby brother back." Jumping up, Sarah exclaimed, "My, look at the time. I really have a million things to do and 900,000 of them are for your wedding so, if you'll excuse me."

Rowan stood, "I'll go with you. We'll go to the boutique. You can try your dress."

"Don't we need an appointment?"

Cleaning up the cups she assured her, "They'll make room for us."

Even though Sarah rolled her eyes once, Rowan was safely in the kitchen, she did so knowing she was being unfair. Her night with Ashton had left her with a lot to think about. Not to mention the way Jareth's memory kept slipping into her conscious had her on the edge. She wasn't being fair. "Surely you remember more of the story than just that," Rowan continued. Toby said it was filled with fantastic creatures and you had a host of voices you'd put on."

"I…I really don't remember." Then quickly she held up a finger as if she'd had a recollection. "You know there was this sheepdog, this old English sheepdog. Why don't you buy him one of those as a wedding gift. He'd love it. Toby loves dogs." Sarah was now hustling Rowan over to her things and back toward the door.

"But…but I'm going to go with you," she objected.

"Ah, no thank you, I want to surprise you with what I drum up. Please. This is the only wedding I'll ever be asked to plan, let me surprise you."

So as not to seem unappreciative Rowan relented. "At least come to the dress shop with me and fit for your dress before we part ways."

"Dress shop, right." Sarah grabbed her purse, rolling her eyes as she closed her apartment door.

* * *

Inside it was one of those wedding cliché disasters you'd expect to see at a theater. Little old women fawned over spoiled overgrown girls with pins sticking out of cushions strapped to their wrists and held in the corners of their mouths. Some lanky blonde made rounds with a silver tray bearing cucumber sandwiches and Perrier. 

The blonde acknowledged Rowan by name and dipped at the knees offering her tray to them as they entered. Rowan readily accepted a sandwich while Sarah refused, wondering why her brother's fiance was suddenly at a total disregard for the organic quality of her snacks. She saw Rowan waving madly for a silver headed woman in the furthest corner of the room, who immediately left the side of the bride she had been pinning and shuffled across the floor as if she'd been a yorkie who smelled bacon. The abandonned bride followed her with daggered eyes.

"Ms. Farthingale, I'm very sorry, but your gown is still being seamed. It won't be ready until next week."

"Yes, Marion I'm aware of that. This is my sister in law Sarah Williams. She's here to try on her bridesmaid's gown."

"Right away Ms. Williams, right away. I've got a fitting room over here, if you ladies will just have a seat, I'll retrieve your dress."

"Excuse me," the bride the assistant had left only a few moments earlier called out.

Marion rolled her eyes, "Get Polly to assist that one." There was an arrogant edge in her voice.

"Right away," said the blonde with the tray. She left the sandwiches on the counter and scampered off on the tips of her toes.

The women at the counter looked up when they clattered against the glass. "Hello Miss Farthingale," she called. Smiling back and looping her arm through Sarah's, Rowan dragged her into the fitting room. "I hope you like the dress."

"We could have waited for her to finish," Sarah said ignoring her brother's fiancé.

"I don't know why they're so eager to make me happy here. It's been this way since the first day I popped in."

"Regardless, if you'd have told her to finish with her first customer I'm sure she would have complied." Sarah was beginning to think her brother's fiancé enjoyed being waited on hand and foot, even if it meant consuming a few non-organic sandwiches.

Before she could further object, Marion returned with the dress. "Here we are," she declared hanging the pearl pink garment bag in the dressing room and tugging the zipper down. Turning, she stared at Sarah expectantly.

Raising her eyebrows, Sarah glanced from the attendant to Rowan and back, her facial contortions asking, 'what?' for her.

"I think she wants you to get undressed," Rowan clarified.

Marion flapped the measuring tape hung around her neck, "I need to measure you."

"Yeah, well I'm not used to getting undressed in front of strangers."

"Oh honey," the jovial old woman laughed, "you don't have a thing I haven't already seen in a dozen shapes and sizes."

"Be that as it may," Sarah conceded, "I have my way of doing things. Lifting her shirt over her head, she politely asked for the dress.

It was form fitting for sure, but about two sizes too large, making it easy for her to slip her jeans off while the long skirt concelled her from the waist down. While stunning, the dress was also very weighty. As Marion fastened the neck Sarah felt her head lob forward. Snapping back her shoulders, she admired the dress in the mirror. It was sleek for certain, but by being oversized, it looked completely shapeless.

"This isn't a problem," Marion assured her. "We'll dart the sides," she suggested gathering the excess matterial in the back. "When our seamstress is through it'll look just like this, only even on the sides."

The band around her neck eliminated the need for a necklace. From it began the top point of a diamond which streched from neck to waist, the full diamond covered in tiny set rhinestones, explaining why it felt so heavy. The waist tapered nicely combining with the bottom point of the diamond to make her look positively minute. The skirt smoothed over her hips and pooled at her ankles.

"You certainly are tall," Marion commented while she knelt at Sarah's feet pinning the hem. "Let me get you the shoes so I'm sure I've got that hem right."

When they were alone, Rowan took advantage of the opportunity to ask Sarah what she thought of the dress. After giving it a spin, she had to admit the last half dozen trips to Neo had boosted her confidence enough to feel comfortable in it's revealing shape and open back. "It's really quite nice."

"I'm glad you like it," she beamed at Sarah.

"Wait until you see it with these." The shoes were clear on top with a silver sole and heels three inches high. It wasn't what Sarah had expected, but once she slid them on, the skirt covered the tacky plastic toe strap, making for a more put together look. In the back there still pooled a mini train of fabric.

"Does that need hemming?" Sarah asked jerking at what looked like a tail now that the waist had been cinched.

"No, it's supposed to look like that, gives it a little oompf, don't you think?"

"It's really quite nice," Sarah repeated.

"Alright," Marion told her, "Careful slipping that off with the pins in place."

The adjustments made descretion while removing the dress much more difficult than getting into it had been. Sarah gave up her dignity this time even if it meant the lace thong she'd selected in her hurry that morning would be flaunted before her future sister in law.

"I'm sorry Miss Farthingale," Marion said tenatively. "We need to have the payoff prior to sending it for alterations."

"Absolutely," Rowan jumped up for her purse.

Sarah raised a hand halting her. "Please, let me." From her back pocket she pulled out a Visa card and handed it to Marion." The total cost of the dress did not go unnoticed. Naturally, every bride wants a special dress, the perfect dress, but knowing her brother's financial situation and knowing a little of Rowan's, it surprised her to see the woman purchasing a tailor made dress from the pink boutique.

"You didn't need to do that," Rowan chastized when the attendant had left.

"I appreciate you wanting to pay for the dress, but you and Toby need your money right now. It's not a big deal. I want to."

Throwing her arms around Sarah's neck, Toby's fiancé praised her generosity. "I don't know what we would do without you."

"Yeah well, what are sisters for?" she asked rhetorically.

* * *

It was another couple hours and a half pound of bean sprouts before Sarah managed to shake Rowan under the guise of wanting to look for wedding decoration without her around so it would be a surprise. In truth she intended to go home and order most of the wedding preparations online, at most a few phone calls. She still hadn't had time to think about what had gone on between her and Ashton. It was nearly three in the afternoon and she hadn't spent a moment alone. 

Lakeshore drive was calling her name as it had a habit of doing when Sarah felt her most reflective. Crossing the bike trails she wandered along the dock toward the aquarium. Conditions were ideal for sailing and Lake Michigan was filled with sails. She could have counted the tied boats on one hand. There was Deanna Jeane and Cat Whisperer in adjacent spots. Then thirty feet away rocking in a most exaggerated way for such subtle waves was a tiny boat, one she thought might make her nervous in a bathtub let alone the lake. The paint was peeling, but it looked like it said Blue Unicorn. She could of been wrong, but it was a lakeside stroll and the accuracy of a ship's name seemed insignificant at best. Dodging a bit of duck droppings, her attentions focused on the ground beneath her feet. When the pavements cleared she looked back into the harbor, a long boat, nothing near it for as far as her immediate vision could see. Written across it's back in glittering gold letters with black trim, two words, Goblin King.

"Goblin King," she murmured. Stumbling into the grass, she steadied herself as best she could and closed her eyes. When she looked back out into the water, she saw those words once again, more clearly, Gossip King. The laughter that arose in her was enough to draw the attention of the others walking along the lake. Sure she must have looked like a mad cow to them by the snap of their heads and the distortion of their faces. "All this fantasy nonsense," she told herself getting to her feet once more, "it's got me seeing things that aren't there. I'm going to call Toby the moment I get home and tell him that if he so much as mentions that fairy tale again..." Some terrible threat would have followed, had she not noticed the cluster of tourists who'd not only gathered to watch her talking to herself, but who had snapped a commemorative photo as well.

Shuffling off, she made her way up to the main road and began heading back toward her apartment. In her head, she continued to curse her brother, herself and especially her sister in law in waiting. It was obvious that silent admonishments were less ridiculed than her auditory ones had been. Looking both ways, hoping to cross against the light and speed her journey home, Sarah took in a new billboard, at least one she hadn't seen before.

_Your eyes can be so cruel_ it read and in the lower left corner a picture of a blue eyed fellow in a wild blonde wig. "Jareth," she said as one foot slipped off the curb and into the street. Squealing tire accompanied the honk which inspired her to jerk her foot back up. Protectively her hands clutched her head, eyes clenched tight, as though not seeing it would make it less corporeal. "Jesus Christ!" Sarah shouted when her eyes opened triggering the nausea to rise in her stomach. Fighting it back and wringing her hands to hide the shaking, she looked up to blame the billboard one last time. The one with the ruffled buff tabby in the corner, his tender blue eyes pleading as the bleach white background asked, _How can you be cruel to these eyes?_

When the light gave way, she ran back to the apartment, not once considering the idea that she looked ridiculous, especially the non-conducive to sprinting shoes which clicked against the pavement as she went.


	8. Chapter 7

A new installment to tide you over between the holidays. Thanks again for all your thought provoking comments. Hope you enjoy the new Chapter!!

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"Run, run, run," he told the girl. "Run away home like the frightened child you have always been. Run into the safety of that penthouse apartment you take for granted and phone that best friend who you neglected only last night while you seduced a complete stranger. See how long it is she continues to humor this adolescent behavior you swore off the last time you abandoned all your friends." The Goblin King shook the crystal in his hand. When the picture faded he blew it gently into the wind. "My little reminders have you nicely frightened."

Pouring himself a glass of brandy, he sat in one of his wingback chairs, sipping the tawny liquid slowly, allowing it to bathe his throat. He was beyond satisfied with himself. Toying with a person's mind could be almost erotic if you did it just the right way, and as it were, watching Sarah flee home as if a monster had her heels gave him the same sanguine rush which often preceded his more carnal conquests. Or it could have been the liquor. Either way, he took to kicking up his feet and congratulating himself with a drink.

Reminiscing, he sighed. "You're no match for me Sarah." He'd spat that same phrase at her early on in their first meeting. How different it would be were he to meet her now. His demeanor, his wardrobe. He was sleeker, more intimidating, stiff and exceedingly cold. Rather than stand around and chat doing little glamours with snakes and scarves, the Goblin King would have stood impressively at the entrance to her parents' room, elucidate the rules, mention imminent death a time or two and that would be it. She would be left alone to figure and fend the rest of the way on her own.

Had he found Hoggle running to her aid as the dwarf was apt to do then, he'd have killed him right before the girl's eyes, making his nature even more prevalent to her. Forget her other friends, the fox and the beast, they wouldn't be an issue. His new creatures wouldn't foolishly offer their assistance to any mortal for fear he would slit them open too. The ship he ran now was a tight one for certain and at his side Arven dealt with the details the king overlooked.

Perhaps there would have been no waiting around for her to realize what he had tried to patiently reveal to her. With all the annoying pests gone, maybe he'd have taken her there, in the tunnels radiating from the oubliette. After all she seemed free enough with her affections when it came to above world men. She'd known what, exactly, about Ashton before inviting him to spend the night?

"I'd love to see her try and run it now," Jareth sneered, his closed eyes parallel to the ceiling.

Arven's question jolted his head out of it's comfortable recline. "What?" he asked.

"You'd love to see whom try and run it now?" his second repeated.

"No one. Never mind." the king barked. "Don't you think you should knock before entering the bed chamber of your king?"

Bowing to show his respect, Arven told Jareth that he had knocked, several times. "You did not answer my liege. I came in to be sure you were safe."

"Yes, well, as you can see I am quite fine." Raising his glass, Jareth toasted his second in command before asking, "What do you mean by disturbing me at this hour?"

"I've got the most recent numbers your majesty, and I think you will be most pleased." Stepping forward he handed a scroll to the king. "Care to have a look?"

Rolling his eyes, he accepted the parchment. "Arven, why are we not going over this by daylight, in my office?"

"Have a look your highness and I'm sure you will experience the same unleashed elation which made postponing this news until morning impossible."

A raise of his brow and curl of his lip showed the king's doubt, but fully aware he would have no peace until he examined the figures thrust at him, the Goblin King set down his now empty brandy glass and unrolled the report. "Mmmm," he said in surprise, "acquisitions up 30, deaths up 15, a nice decline in the number of wish makers who choose to attempt the labyrinth in the first place. Ah," he sighed looking innocent, "I am so very good at what I do. I told you we didn't need to bother republishing those idiotic books." Lazily he flicked the report back in Arven's direction. "Have you come to do anything other than stroke my ego?"

"In fact," Arven said tucking the scroll in his interior breast pocket, "I have."

Motioning for him to sit, Jareth put his feet on the ground and straightened his posture. With a nod he gave his assistant a look which asked for what that might be.

Clearing his throat before he began, Arven stated, "Hear me out before you make any objection."

"An opening like that will make me end this conversation before I begin it."

"Apologies your majesty. I know the subject I am about to bridge is a sensitive one."

"I am not a sensitive immortal Arven, bridge what you will so I may enjoy some rest this night."

"Yes your majesty. As you know, I've made it my mission to make the maze as unsolvable as possible."

"And you have done that much well, as far as I can tell."

"Many thanks sire." He bowed gracefully. "What I'd like to do, if you'll have a hand in it, is to make the maze fully insolvable."

Perching his chin on the height of his templed index fingers, the king donned a gaze of significant interest. "Go on."

"Well as it were there is but one who has ever attempted to and succeeded in solving your maze."

"Reiterating that of which I am already fully aware does so tend to bore me, Arven."

"Yes your majesty. What I'm saying is that if I knew more about her, what brought her here, what made her able to solve the maze, I believe I could create an unbeatable labyrinth."

Jareth fell back, now significantly less interested in what the former king of mines had to say. "No labyrinth can be unbeatable. There has to be one successful route through by rule."

"Since when do you play by the rules?" Arven asked flippantly.

"True." Proudly Jareth began an even strut about the room. "Still there are some rules even I must comply with if I wish not to anger higher powers."

"Higher than the king?"

His leather clad hand patted the shoulder of the dark haired immortal, "Surely you're aware that even a king is not safe from the laws of the universe? The throne does not keep your enemies at bay, after all Arven, you were once a king."

"Point well taken," he agreed. "But, if you will, there are currently twenty-three possible solutions to the maze."

"So if you know the possible solutions, why not block them off?"

"Death at every turn makes for a rather boring observation your highness. I'd much rather get inside the mind of this girl and make my modifications based upon that."

The Goblin King stared at the opposing wall. Were he to refuse, it was likely he would face scrutiny from his assistant. More of the same questioning his feelings for the mortal, better he concede and prove the animosity he'd gained for Sarah Williams to keep Arven from further inquisition. "If you think it will help," he told Arven as he poured a fresh brandy and refilled his own glass. Handing the fresh glass to his second, he noticed the look of surprise there. "What? Did you think I would forbid you knowledge of the girl?" Jareth fell easily into his chair. "What good does it do me if the man crafting my labyrinth isn't at liberty to have full disclosure?"

"Ind..."

"Rhetorical question Arven," he sighed. Even as king he managed a good sense of humor and couldn't help but to wonder why everyone around him persisted in being so bloody serious all the time. "So, what is it you want to know about Sarah Williams?"

From the opposite interior pocket to the one where he'd placed the scroll, Arven drew some parchment scraps and a quill. The king immediately offered him an ink well which was promptly refused. "Suit yourself," he said using his magic to whisk it away as quickly as he had used his magic to produce it.

Arven spun the pen between his fingers, revealing to Jareth a tiny tube shaped well of ink thatched onto the back end of the quill's tip. "Portable reservoir," he explained. "You merely clip one in and you've got a constant supply of ink for pages and when it runs dry, you simply pop it loose and replace it." Mimicking the motion, he flicked his wrist while extending and retracting his finger.

"Yes, well, some of us still prefer at least a thing or two remain as it has been traditionally."

"One can observe tradition while reaping the benefits of convenience, otherwise," he wiggled the feathered end of his quill in emphasis. "Shall we get started?"

"I can think of nothing I'd rather do," Jareth sighed, talking a gulp of brandy and slouching on one arm.

"This girl, Sarah Williams, is she exceptional in any manner?"

"Bit of a broad question, don't you think?"

"Did she possess magic of her own?"

"No."

"Was she physically stronger, as mortals go?"

"No."

"Rarely beautiful?"

"Not _rarely._"

"Smart then? She must have been of above average intellect." Arven began scribbling on the parchment.

"I wouldn't say above average, not then at least." Jareth tried his best to recall what he'd thought of her in that regard. She did have some brains. She had to, but it wasn't her intelligence that made him take notice and certainly not what enabled her to solve the labyrinth. It was something more, something not yet developed to it's full potential. "She had determination," he admitted. "She refused to quit until she had her baby brother back, and she was willing to accept help from others when they offered it. She lacked pride and yet exuded it at the same time."

Scribbling wildly didn't keep Arven from asking, "This is how you felt about her _then_?"

"Meaning?"

"It was just a question."

"Back then I admired her. I respected her."

"You loved her," the former king stated flatly.

Jareth cleared his throat, "For a time, I was fascinated by her, but it is hard to love a woman who has destroyed the only thing which you have ever really had to call your own. No one had ever challenged me like she had and I was smitten. Much has changed since then Arven, for her and for me."

"And now?"

"And now, if I were to encounter her emotional twin, I would watch patiently in my chambers, with much anticipation for how she might die."

"Your majesty, I must say I'm quite proud of this turn around in your attitude toward your past."

"I can't tell you what that means to me." Beaming with delight, Arven was aglow at the king's acknowledgment. "I can't tell you because I will be asleep shortly, so do lock the door on your way out." More sensitive ears may have heard Arven's ego deflate at Jareth's witty repartee, but the king was changed and in his bed in the snap of a finger. "I believe you were asked to leave."

"In all fairness, your majesty, I was only able to ask one question."

"Perhaps if you leave this instant, in the morning we can discuss why fairness means very little to me. Until then, I'm going to ask you one last time using a word reserved only for my most serious moments, please leave my chambers before I'm forced to remove you."

"Naturally," Arven declined, bowing to the king before backing from the room. "Goodnight, your grace."

Jareth waved his hand at the door until he heard it close and then he allowed sleep to bring him peace.

* * *

"Another balcony," the king sighed making the transition between owl and his immortal form. "Doesn't anyone do sliding glass doors anymore? Don't people in ranch houses ever wish their children away?" As he continued on with his structural analysis, Jareth made a mental note to suggest to Arven they conduct a correlation study between housing types and numbers of children wished away. Why not? He seemed so eager to spend countless hours researching every other connection between the labyrinth and those who had stepped foot in it. Especially, it seemed, Sarah. He would humor his second on this topic a bit longer. After all, it seemed to give him some purpose, at the least, it kept him busy. Ultimately, if it improved the labyrinth, it was for the best. 

The room he entered reminded him of a hundred others he had seen before. Bed, night tables, bureau, a crib. Didn't anyone do nurseries anymore? In older days he'd seen some spectacular set ups. Tiny themed rooms. Bears or kittens, bunnies, all sorts of animals on a great ship with no sails. People were creative, they used their imaginations. It was easier to work then. In and out with the babies before anyone was any the wiser. A changeling left in the child's place to be found in the morning by the unsuspecting parent or unobservant older child. It took a certain amount of skill to get the king to come a second time and offer the opportunity to run the labyrinth.

Now, they were all sticking their children in these slotted boxes, bedside, making it so that when he brought his goblins to take the child, the lot of them were quickly found out, immediately confronted and Jareth had no choice but to offer the offending wish maker an opportunity to win back the child. It was all more hassle than it was worth. The Goblin King missed the old days when his world was solely his own. Times changed and, for the most part Jareth changed with them, even if he had a healthier than average respect for tradition.

He could have debated the pluses and minuses for an indefinite and lengthy period of time, rather there was a child waiting in his castle and a girl facing away from him on the edge of her parent's bed. Surely bursting through the balcony doors made enough noise to startle her, but just in case, he cleared his throat as loudly and gruffly as he could. Nothing. She was just outside the rays of moonlight which cast through the open doors at his back. Long tresses hung down over her shoulders. She seemed nearly inanimate to him, like a stone statue in the shadows.

"Excuse me," he said ignoring his rule to force them to speak first. "Excuse me," he repeated more loudly when she failed to respond. So slowly it seemed mechanical, the figure rotated it's head. Jareth could see the glassy reflection of dark eyes as they looked at him filling him with dread.

This was a most unusual situation for the Goblin King. He hadn't experienced fear or an emotion like it since he was a child himself. And even then, he wouldn't have admitted it. But this female, she ignored him and someone as commanding as Jareth feared anyone who dared not to fear him and for good reason. He had spent years become positively the most fearsome immortal in his realm.

"Listen, I'm only here because _you_ called on me," Jareth announced stepping closer.

The female voice in the darkness was low and thick, "I know." She sounded more mournful than intimidating. As his confidence grew, the Goblin King stepped toward her once more. She rose to her feet and met him on the very edge of the moonlight, "I know exactly why you're here." It was her green eyes which betrayed her, but Jareth had very little time to notice anything else once he felt her arms wrap around his neck.

Against his cool skin her breath felt like fire and when her lips pressed firmly against his, Jareth pulled her close. Like silk, her hair fell between his fingers, her skin perfumed with a mix of vanilla and spice. The taste of her as intoxicating as any alcohol he'd ever sipped and twice as sweet. The body meshed against his was not the body of a child, but the curvaceous form of full grown woman.

Why he forced her from him, the Goblin King couldn't explain. "Sarah?" he asked.

"Yes Jareth," she replied. He was transfixed by the sound of his name on her lips. Her hands fiddled with the lapels of his coat when he failed to respond. Her innocent smile keeping him from saying what was on his mind. Watching her lips part forced him to pull up his chin to keep from kissing her once more.

"Sarah, why are you here?"

"This is my house," she reminded him, a playful light in her eyes.

Closing his eyes, the king took several steady breaths, "I actually meant to ask how I got here. There's no way you could have called me."

Lining the sides of his face, her manicured nail tips felt electrified. "Come now, you've been to my world often enough to know the old expression where there's a will there's a way."

"So you willed me here?" His mind raced with ideas on how they'd managed to reunite.

Her hands fell loosely from his chin and against his exposed chest. Gathering the ruffles of his shirt, she tugged sharply down and outward until the silk v'ed all the way to his waist. Roaming over the pale glory of his cool exposed flesh, Sarah couldn't resist nestling into his embrace. Looking into his mismatched eyes she answered him. "No silly. You willed me here."

Soaking with sweat, Jareth sat bolt upright in his bed, his hands flailing for balance as his mind twirled between reality and his dream until his senses could convince him which he was in. Heart racing, he threw back the covers and perched in the window where he could let the cool night air fall over him. The castle stone felt good against his bare back aiding in calming the frazzled king.

Wet and matted against his head, what was usually a well developed natural crown clung to him repellently. Jareth let his head rest against the stone. Focusing his attentions on the black expansive night, filled with stars and moons. The more he relaxed, the more flashes of his dream came back to him. It was the slap of her lips against his that shook him most. "Why the hell would I be dreaming about her?"

His eyes sought the veil between the worlds. Closed, as he had suspected. One look at his attire, the silk sleeping pants unaccompanied, and he knew he had not left his bed in the middle of the night for an unwelcome summoning. It was he who was tampering with her memory and he would make her pay for tampering back. "But it's not possible for her to have tampered back," his rational mind told him. "It must be all of Arven's questions."

Yawning, he slumped back to bed. No rest awaited him there, instead he fidgeted as if his sheets had been made of broken glass. "This is ridiculous!" he shouted slamming his fist against his mattress. "It was just a dream, the result of a late night brandy and an interrogation. It's not like you purposefully went to bed with her face on your mind and her name on your lips. Curse Arven with dreams of her." Grabbing his covering, he flung himself onto his right side and commanded himself to sleep. Naturally, Jareth being who he was, refusing to yield to anyone's demands, it seemed that stubbornness extended even to his own. "In the morning, I shall notify dear Arven just how lucky he was I was too tired to kill him tonight."

* * *

"And so you see the girl has very little bearing on your improvements to this labyrinth. Thus, I would thank you to refrain from interrogating me in reference to her any further." Jareth's voice was calm. Perhaps too much so, making his justification seem rehearsed. 

Arven listened to what he said, waited for him to be through and then countered, "And yet she is the one thing which continues to unnerve you. Your highness, forgive me for being bold, but where nothing else seems to concern you, this girl swoops in and disturbs you to your very core." His voice deepened with sincerity. "It all leads me to wonder why that is."

Jareth sat in his chair, still, listening not only to what was being said but also to what was being inferred. "It is true she defeated your maze. It is true she destroyed your kingdom. Should you not be filled with rage?" Arven set to pacing around the room "If it were my kingdom, let's suppose, I would be beside myself with thoughts of revenge. The only means by which she would rule my thoughts, would be to control them with notions of her demise."

From low in the king's chest came a deep whisper, "But it isn't your kingdom, is it?"

"Determined to protect myself from her reappearance in my world in every possible way." Arven went on as if he'd never heard the comment. "I wouldn't sit around my bed chamber at night wishing she had a second chance to best me."

"Enough!" Jareth bellowed. "This is not your kingdom. Furthermore, had you bothered to ask, I would have told you there was no possible way in which Sarah Williams could return to this realm. Problem solved Arven. Or perhaps a little bog duty would close the topic more permanently?"

Arven bowed, "If it pleases your majesty, I have learned to never underestimate an opponent. Someday, the mortal may wind up with a child, and if she does your highness, we run the risk of being invaded once more."

"Do your research, the mortal is unable to have children. It is the catalyst which destroyed her marriage in the first place."

"There are advances in modern science, advances that catapult them further everyday toward being able to make anything of the human body that it desires. Why should we believe the day would not come when Sarah Williams could conceive a child?"

Stumbling for an answer, the king couldn't establish a coherent word before Arven was able to unleash some more of his justification, "Because sire, on the off chance it ever happens, on the remote possibility she would have the capacity to wish away the child she has yet to conceive, were she to beat the odds and find herself facing you once more, besting you once more, she would win back the child. Only this time, she would walk away with something more than a baby. She would have your kingdom. It would be you to kneel before her, you at the mercy of her every whim. You to know the pain of having _once_ been king."

"You dare think me that weak?"

"I dare to see a weakness in you. Your majesty, it is obvious that you feel something for this girl, something other than loathing and hatred. If I am to do my best to help you preserve this kingdom, your kingdom, then it is my obligation to remind you that any opportunity you give her is only a gateway to your demise."

"Put me on my knees? Take my kingdom?" Jareth muttered aloud, a deep flush coming to his face. "If you mean to frighten me into allowing you to have your way Arven, then it is my obligation to remind you that I am not easily frightened."

"Aye your majesty."

"Good, then before my good mood and generosity vanish, take your leave of me.

* * *

The blows lowered repeatedly across his full cheek did nothing to rephrase his answer. "None but her," he said. Hoggle spat blood into the sand. Tiny grains seemed to swallow the rich liquid enhancing the already rusty color of the grains. "None but her." 

"None?" the king paced before the dwarf. Temporarily he clasped his wrist behind his lower back. "Thousands of mortals to enter this realm and you've extended your hospitality to none but her."

Hoggle stood by his word. "None but her," he swore again as his swollen lip interfered with his already muddled speech.

"Why?" Jareth insisted. "And don't tell me it's because she was the one to call you friend. It is, after all, nothing more than a title. I could have given you a title Higgle." The king sounded almost hurt he hadn't been given the opportunity to do just that.

"You can't even get my name right!" the dwarf retaliated. "It's HOGGLE!"

"Hoggle? Higgle? What's the difference? I would have been willing to give you a title, a position in the Goblin City, even the castle if I thought I could have trusted you, but how can I trust a worthless little scab like you who goes leaking my secrets to any mortal willing to befriend him?"

"Don't want yer trust," Hoggle declared. "Ain't helped no one but Sarah. Ain't ever been no one's friend before, until her. Not since either." He wiped the last of the wet blood from his lip revealing a nice sized gash where there had been skin. "Think what you want. Ain't goin' to change yer mind. Don't wanna try."

Why was it, Jareth wondered, Sarah Williams seemed to reach inside everyone she met, through the coldest and roughest exteriors and stroke the heart beneath their ribs until she forced them to smile. Hoggle was nothing more than a toady old dwarf, physically unappealing, odoriferous to say the least, unpleasant to the other senses as well, lacking in any sort of manners or sophistication and terribly grammatically incorrect. He had nothing to offer anyone by the way of finances or possessions. Until Sarah, Jareth would have doubted he had any intangible quality that would make him worth while, but he had shown that one girl true allegiance. Admirable, even if it was treasonous. It showed potential.

"How generous of you Hoglet, granting me your permission to think my own thoughts." The king stooped to the level of the dwarf. "Can you guess what I'm thinking now?"

Though his response should have filled him with fright, Hoggle muttered with complete calm, "That you would kill me if it weren't for you needin' someone to guard the gate."

"Not a bad idea," Jareth gave his eyebrows a jerk. Snatching up the front of Hoggle's vest he said in a low, throaty growl, "Mind yourself otherwise I will be in the market for a new guard." Shoving him down, the Goblin King rose, towering above the helpless creature in the dirt. "This is your one and only warning. Assist no mortal that comes to these gates."

"I told you I ain't," Hoggle interrupted.

"Even if the famed Miss Williams should return?" Jareth sought his servant's eyes. They betrayed any attempt he may have made to lie. "Surely you mean to answer me as quickly as before," the king prompted.

"Sarah's comin' back?" Hoggle asked in reply.

"Of course not. But if she were, by some chance."

"What chance?" His repeated questions flustered the king.

"No chance!"

"There must be some chance if yer askin' me 'bout it." By now, Hoggle had risen from the ground and made his way to Jareth's feet, more driven by curiosity than bravery.

Drawing back the toes of his right foot, Jareth delivered a mighty kick just beneath Hoggle's left hip that sent him sailing. "I said there's no chance of it. I was testing you. Testing your allegiance and as usual you have failed! Keep to yourself. Kill off the fairies, guard the door and encourage our guests to peek inside. That is all you need do. Any deviation from those duties and you will be relieved of them as you will be relieved of your burdensome responsibility of breathing in and out repeatedly all day long."

Hoggle lie still, not far from the fountain. His leg felt broken, but he was too scared to move and test his theory. Too afraid that Jareth would finish him off here and now for his insubordination. Still, something about the king's visit gave him hope. He had some reason to believe Sarah might return, even if he refused to admit it. Anything was possible. It had been sometime since he'd last seen her. A few goblins on the inside let slip the fact the king kept tabs on her. Hoggle knew she had been married. Perhaps she had children of her own now, but Sarah wasn't the kind to wish away her own child?

A second voice rose in Hoggle's head baiting him, 'Not even for curiosity's sake?'

'No,' Hoggle thought as he felt himself losing consciousness from the pain in his leg. Sarah Williams was no longer an impetuous child. She'd sent her brother away, true, but she had learned from that experience. The notion she might attempt it with her own flesh and blood was as preposterous as Hoggle's notion he could stand up to the king. But there was still a glimmer of hope deep within him, the only light he could see as his world went dark.

* * *

Preceeding the feel of soft flesh against his lips, Jareth inhaled the soft cloud of jasmine scent gathered beneath his nose. This was no ordinary girl, this was a sophisticated woman. He could tell by the way she allowed her hand to lie so naturally within his own. Pliable, but still. There was no trembling, no tell tale beads of perspiration in her palm. Thinking ahead, knowing this moment would come she'd dotted her perfume lightly on her wrist where she knew he would appreciate the scent when he showed his respect. 

She'd used a milk and honey sugar scrub when she'd bathed, giving her skin a smoothed polished finish, leaving behind the lightest hint of sweetness beneath the floral perfume. For the pristine condition of her hand, it had to be a frequent ritual. This was a woman of leisure he surmised, the kind of lady who had time to worship herself and therefore expected it of others as well.

Thinking he may indulge her for a moment, Jareth stayed bent before her, head tipped, his lips still pressed to the back of her hand as if he'd knelt to pray at a temple. Then slowly he pulled back his lips until they hovered above her skin and sighed a puff of his warm breath over the spot which held his kiss. By then even the most dignified woman was trying to keep her knees from betraying her otherwise cool exterior. This woman didn't flinch.

"Rise," a woman's strong voice commanded.

'This is a brazen one,' he thought as he made his way to his feet. His eyes focused on the rich black pattern in the petticoat of her gown. 'I will wait until the proper moment, when I feel her wanton eyes upon me,' he anticipated. When he flicked his eyes directly on hers, she would melt into his arms and he would claim her.

More than a minute went by without him feeling cast upon. In fact, he felt all together unwell. The stone beneath his feet seemed as if it would give way. The air around him was thick, heavy against his frame, and the look he waited for felt more like a vice than the invitation he had been expecting. Laughter rang inside his head. Cackling. Looking about he confirmed there was no one else in the room with them. "Make them stop," he commanded with as much authority as he could muster, but he was only met with more thunderous enthusiasm. "Make them stop!"

He flicked his gaze upon her, poised, cold, calculating, prepared to stare her into submission if need be. Green like sapphires, like an emerald beneath a clear pool. He felt himself go soft. Reaching for her he stepped forward, only to be clutched at the elbows by two guards. Royal guards?

"What's the meaning of this? Do you not know who I am? Let go of me before I leave you to the forest!"

"Your majesty, what should we do with the intruder?"

"Well you can start by grabbing on to her instead of me," he suggested to deaf ears.

That same honey sweet, jasmine scented hand lifted his chin, "He is rather pathetic," she said. "What should we do with you Jareth? Drop you in the bottom of a deep, dark oubliette? Lose you in an every changing maze of walls? Leave you to the fiery forest? Abandon you in the bog? No," her smile was sinister, "that would be such a pity."

"Sarah," he growled.

Clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she brought her face close to his, "I no longer recognize my above world pseudonym. I have finally assumed my true title, that which I was meant for since I was but a child. They call me," her lips grazed his ear, her breath like fire against his even paler than usual skin, "the Goblin Queen." Rearing back her head, she laughed a hearty fulfilling laugh.

"Whatever you're playing at has gone on quite long enough," he told her. Looking at his guards he commanded, "Let me go!"

The servants at his sides looked toward their queen. She jestured and the guards stepped back. Jareth straightened his finery. "I don't know what they were thinking going along with this whimsy." He stepped to her, his hands hugging her waist. "Are there no better games you know my darling?"

What was normally a face of rare beauty contorted into a mask of severity and utter seriousness. "If you continue to touch me, I will have you killed." She gave a smirk before generating a crystal which struck him in the stomach with unreal force and shoved him back. Stumbling some before managing to regain his balance, Jareth felt long fingers fill with tufts of his mane, yanking until his back arched. Sarah forced him to his knees. Towering above him she was both fearsome and sensuous. Her lips were red as blood as she instructed him on the proper way to greet his queen. "You shall kneel before me always. Our eyes should never meet. And if you must call for my attention, you will address me as your majesty and only as your majesty." With uncommon strength she tossed his head forward and shoved the one time Goblin King face first toward the stone floor.

Before his hands could jut out to protect him, Jareth felt the cold, sharp edges of the crudely chiseled tiles slice his face. For the first time in all the time he could recall, he felt pain. Scarlet streams shown bright against his white skin, matting the strands of platinum hair which dared to wander close to his wounds. Struggling, he pressed against the floor until he was more upright. Dizziness overwhelmed him, making standing an extraordinary feat. Staggering, he managed a crude kneel, one knee up, one knee on the ground.

"Don't bother," Sarah spat at him as she circled the fallen king. "Even if you managed to get up, I'll only have the guards drag you off to your oubliette. Such a pity."

By now he could taste the blood pouring from a nice slice above his right eye. "What? What is such a pity?" Jareth asked slowly.

"I really rather hoped you would be more accepting of all of this. We could have had a great empire you and I, if only you'd have cooperated. But you had to challenge me." Sarah paced authoritatively before him, flicking a riding crop at the bell of crinoline filling the layer between her skirt and her delicate, black suede boots. "Naturally you lost, again," she stressed. "I thought you'd learned something in all this time, but no, you couldn't accept your defeat any better the second time. You had to whine about how unfair it all was, how I had no _power_ over you. Well we see now how wrong you were." Between the thumb and first finger of her right hand, she clasped his chin firmly, forcing his face to turn up toward hers. In course with her recent forewarning, he avoided her eyes in any direct sense. "Now I'll have to lock you up until you learn a little something about humility. I only hope I don't forget about you." Swinging her hand, she sent him crashing to the floor again. The sting of the crop radiated through him as it landed square in the small of his back. Just before he passed out from the pain, in the distance, he heard the queen order her guards, "Take him away."

When he awoke, his breath was heavy, his skin soaked with moisture. Though he had been as asleep as a lazy cat sprawled in the summer sun, he felt weak and feeble. "No!" Jareth cried out as he sat upright. Wiping his face, he confirmed the droplets pouring from his temples were nothing more serious than perspiration. Legs like rubber bands he wobbled to the wash basin and poured some tepid water which he then spooned over his face. Jareth pat himself dry and sat on the edge of his bed.

His heart beat so hard in the veins of his temples, it blurred his vision. Everything above his waist shook, everything below was numb. Replays of his nightmare flickered in his head in black and white, out of sequence and very quickly. Even with his eyes open he couldn't block the images out. "I'll kill Arven tomorrow for that," Jareth proclaimed. "Planting some ludicrous notion in my head, causing me to lose what could have been an otherwise thorough night's sleep, that has to be some degree of treason."

Fighting to regain control of himself, the king began pacing his room pausing to pour himself a medicinal brandy, "And if it's not some degree of treason, I shall declare it one. A substantial one at that, because I am king. He will understand that. This kingdom will understand that. Sarah Williams will be made to understand that." The glass in his hand shattered under the pressure of his grip.

* * *

What time he fell asleep again even the wiseman couldn't tell. Dried blood had stuck his palm to the arm of his wingback chair and whether it was brandy or saliva crusting the corner of his mouth was hard to say, but one thing was certain, Jareth had begun this day equipped with a new level of rage brewing within him. 

Inside his office, he thought up more and more potent reminders to send to the above world. When Arven entered, he'd forgotten all about wanting to see him eliminated for treason, rather he began a litany of tasks for him to carry out in the labyrinth. "I want every passage closed sans one. Choose the most difficult. If need be, inspire a dozen or so mortals to call for me and I'll bring them to you. We'll set them each loose on one of the workable paths and you can test the routes."

"Yes your majesty," Arven complied enthusiastically. "Right away." Jumping from his chair he took flight, eager to begin shutting down the viable passages through the labyrinth.

The king commanded him to sit. Without question his second complied. Authority left his lower jaw hanging as he looked up at Jareth from his seat confused by his contradictory commands and fearful of his newly surfaced anger. "Arven, have you that pile of scraps you're so fond of carrying about?"

From within his breast pocket he withdrew the same, "Aye."

"I shall speak this once. I shall speak quickly. I shall not repeat myself and lastly, I shall not entertain discussions on this topic again."

"Your majesty?"

As if he never heard the inquisitive tones of the immortal before him, Jareth went on. "Sarah Williams was like any other impetuous child on the surface. The book she found had long since been left behind in a prop box, left in the shadows backstage at a public theater. Her mother had left her there to entertain herself while she worked on her latest role. That's when I first noticed something different in her."

Words flew from Arven's fingers making it seem his quill would take flight at any moment. Some blessing had been bestowed upon him to make him suddenly privy to that which Jareth held most secretive. There was an honor in this, but there was not time to focus on that, not now.

"Most girls, especially those her age, read through the book in less than thirty minutes searching for only the necessary pieces of information. The incantations always seemed to catch their eyes and within less time than it takes to transport through the veil, they're hunting down a babe, any babe and they're reciting words they don't understand. What's more, they don't care that they don't understand it. Rather they wait, looking forward to finding themselves in the presence of a king. Not her. Not Sarah," he grew whimsical for a split second. "She studied the blasted book like it was a bible. Learned damn near every word by heart. In her teens she acquired a simple white dress with huge bell sleeves, tight to her waist, tied with cords. A ring of flowers rest upon her crown and beneath the skirt of sturdy cotton, a pair of denim pants. She was yearning to become a woman, but still held tight to her youth."

"And did this dress come with some sort of magical powers?" Arven asked.

Jareth paced before him, his glance stern, projecting like darts from his mismatched eyes. "There will be no questions. If I was unclear about this earlier, let me specify it now with complete certainty. There will be no questions."

Arven nodded.

"In this dress, she would come every weekend to a park near her home. There was a lake and a bridge and a small monument, perfect for perching. There I would watch her become absorbed in the character from the book. Over and over reading the lines as if she were the one the king had given certain powers to."

Arven mumbled aloud, "And that's when you gave her your powers."

The crop in Jareth's hand cut through the air with a determined swoosh and a sharp thwap when it landed on the back of Arven's chair. The immortal jumped in his seat silently cursing his gruff voice for being audible even when he meant it to be a near silent utterance. "I saw potential in her. She was so readily able to accept the idea of our world, so eager for fantasy to be a part of her mortal world. If things had been different, if she had been older or at least more mature, she'd have made a fine queen. She'd have looked at me differently," he caught himself, "my world differently. It was more than my servitude I offered her, it was my kingdom." He swung the crop again, knocking several books from the case on his right.

"I'm getting ahead of myself." Clearing his throat the king continued, "Her home life was less than satisfactory for her. Sarah was inconsequential to her parents, meaningless to her step mother. One particularly rough evening, I sent my goblins to keep watch on her. I may have planted the suggestion in her head to try to utter the words, but for the most part, it was her own idea. I waited outside her window, anticipating that someone as interested in my story as this one was couldn't resist being home alone with a baby she resented.

"The child was particularly irritating that night." Jareth leaned against the window sill, his left heel kicked up against the wall. 'I owed him for that,' he thought. "Non-stop squalling and endless sobs, it was only a few moments before she was muttering incantations. The goblins took the child and secured him in the castle while I bargained with her. At first I offered her what I offered them all. The child is in the castle, but it's such a long, long way, further than you think. I warned her it would not be easy, suggested she stay here with her toys and costumes, but I knew better than to think she'd accept my bargain. Nothing was to stop her from entering the labyrinth.

"So I returned to the castle and I waited. To amuse myself I threw obstacle upon obstacle her way, but that damned dwarf who guards the gates, he fell for her. Helping her through the labyrinth, all for a piece of plastic and the meaningless title of friend." The king's obvious displeasure with Hoggle contorted his face. "He wasn't the only one though, once she rescued Ludo he felt obligated to her and then Didymus, smitten by her beauty."

'B..e..a..u..t..y,' Arven wrote. Lifting the quill and doubling back to underline the adjective.

"I had developed a strange respect for her then. It occurred to me that if she were able to beat the labyrinth, I might be able to charm her somewhat, convince her that staying with me would be in her best interests. Then I would not have been bested, per say. My perfect record would remain in tact. I would have been allowed to keep the child and in the process acquired myself a queen to occupy my...time.

Clenching his fist, the king was reminded of his injury from the night before. He relaxed his hand. "Queen wasn't good enough for her. An entire kingdom at her disposal, all the Underground to call her own. I offered her all I was, all I had, but she wouldn't hear of it. She just went on with that antidote, that reversal spell. Why did I ever leave that line in the story? I should have made it more difficult, that's my bane. But she didn't even stop to think.

"Yes, she wanted the child, but had she accepted my offer, she'd have had the babe and his life would have been a far cry better than it is now. Orphaned, alone, still thinking of his world as some harmless place where good things happen to good people and injustice is somehow monitored by the moral and kept at bay by human decency. Toby's never seen the truth of humanity. He never saw his ancestors invade the veil and attempt to take all that we had kept pure.

"Sure we warred among ourselves, but we kept our feuds to ourselves. We took the children of the wretched whose lives were sad to begin with and here we offered them complete joy. Gone were bed times and homework. They had but to mill about and satisfy their boredom with any number of games. Until one of the humans, one of the moral, justice hungry humans called us thieves in the night, declared us evil for the deeds we did. Then his perfect race turned to the black magics to invade our world, kill off as many of us as they could. We had no weaponry but our magic. It was a slaughter." Jareth thought of Annacuin. The day he lost his sibling as fresh to him as the wound beneath his glove. That was what humans had cost him. That is what their kind was capable of. It was humans who had made immortals as enraged as they had become. Taught them the art of true war, taught them about swords and maces, taught them hatred for another race.

"That is the full story of Sarah Williams, the first in centuries to best me. There is no more, there is no less. Take what you have learned, if that has been anything at all, and go perfect my maze, but speak of this no more. To me, Sarah Williams is..." he struggled with how best to say what crossed his mind. "She is an illusion, smoke and mirrors and trickery."

* * *

For weeks Arven fiddled in the labyrinth, bricking walls and setting traps. On several occasions he tempted young girls into facing the king so he could test his routes, but by the end of his experimentation and expedition, the labyrinth was wholly impossible, but for one route which ran forward and then doubled back upon itself, taking the participant to seemingly hopeless locations where only faith would carry them onward, each step, each stop purposefully and carefully devised to test the heart, the body and the soul. "I should," he said to the maze he stood in, "like to see even the_ beautiful_ and fortunate Miss Williams solve this puzzle now. None shall ever best his majesty again." 

His efforts were noble, his commitment tireless, but someone who had spent his life being an immortal had a very narrow concept of ever. It left the on looking Goblin King to wonder if the former king had truly learnt anything from losing his kingdom once. Confidence was one thing, but taking comfort in confidence was foolish, at best.


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Without a doubt the fitted blue gown had been tailored to Sarah's frame like a second skin. Her silver heels not only brought out the light spatter of glitter built into the fabric, but slid gracefully over the satin aisle runner. 'A far better choice to rent the satin runner,' she thought. There was a paper runner which she could have purchased for less than the rental charges on the satin alternative, but Sarah had no need for an aisle runner of her very own and she certainly didn't want to take the chance her heel would catch and cause her to fall.

Delicately she held the thick stems of six full calla lilies tied together by a blue ribbon matching the rich nearly navy color of her dress. Identical arrangements with more closely trimmed stalks marked the ends of each row of seats. She was glad she'd invested the extra five hundred in the faux pew edging. Aesthetically it looked better than pillars and it matched nicely with the wooden chairs she'd rented to replace the metal folding ones Rowan had previously arranged for.

Pausing at the end of the aisle, Sarah stood for a moment beneath the trellis she'd managed to rustle up at very nearly the last minute. Fed between its cross supports, Sarah and Laney had threaded the last of the blue ribbon, some of the silvery white satin left over from Rowan's dress and white tulle sprayed with silver glitter. When they were done, it looked as though decorating experts had been consulted.

Laney wore a classy navy skirt and sports jacket, a lace trimmed camisole giving a hint of silver against her bronze skin. She was one of less than two dozen guests on Toby's side and she watched on tearfully as her friend exchanged a long stare with the brother she had raised. The organist continued softly to repeat the last twelve bars as she waited for the maid of honor to take her spot. Already staining his face, Toby let the tears flow freely as he stepped forward to gather his sister's hand. His lips fell gently to her knuckles and Sarah felt the hot rain fall from his eyes. Taking to her tip toes, Sarah kissed his cheek. He seemed to have grown another six inches in that moment. Quivering blooms were left to the security of only one hand as she rose the other to her eyes to wipe away the drops which hung heavy on her lower lids.

She felt like grabbing hold of him as he walked back to await his bride. He was that scared, orphaned little boy, that needy juvenile whose world had been forever changed. He wasn't ready to leave her, to start his own life. He needed her and more importantly, Sarah was reminded how much she need him. Suddenly, the expense, all of which Sarah absorbed herself, was all worth it. His face said everything. In his eyes was more happiness than any price tag could apply to. His joy was her reward.

Surveying faces, she guessed at the identity of most of the people eyeballing her. She assumed the ten or so men and women sat on the bride's side had been acquaintances of some sort since Rowan had commented she had no family which she could ask to serve as witness to the wedding. Across the aisle were about twenty of her brother's guests. She recognized some of them as old school chums who'd well since lost their boyish charms, replacing them with more handsome and sometimes rugged features. They had been not much more than hormonal teenage boys the last time she had seen them. Some had visited her place frequently when Toby was still her responsibility. The others must have been more recently made friends or coworkers with whom he'd found a special connection, enough so that it was his wish to have them partake in the joys of his special day.

When the Wedding March began, the heads of the guests swung over their shoulders. At first she was difficult to make out. Chicago's suburbs had been blessed with unusually strong sun this day, brilliant beams of light which played off the silver in her gown giving her frame a metallic halo, making her look angelic.

Sarah saw the flowers a full three steps before the bride came into focus, six calla lily stalks, just like hers, tied with that silver ribbon, sprayed with glitter. Then she saw the mane of milk chocolate locks done up in an extravagant bouffant, more hair than she remember Rowan having, held in place with familiar finely spun silver combs, detailed and delicate. Her mother hadn't been one to spend much time on fancy updos and Karen's hair was always short, layered and stacked up the back of her oddly long head.

Blessedly, the several dozen people in attendance were almost all preoccupied with the advancing beauty to notice the way Sarah's bouquet plummeted to the grass at her feet. It wasn't that she was so taken with Rowan she went limp, in fact, she hadn't relaxed at all. Her whole body had gone stiff, an eerie coolness beginning in her stomach filled her chest, froze her thoughts. It wasn't until she felt the watchful stare of one of the women on Rowan's side of the aisle, sat up front away from the rest of her guests, that she realized the flowers had even fallen.

Before they had been of no consequence to her, the three women who sat in the front row, each in long black gowns, elegant, stately. Rich hair, mahogany eyes, observant of her when they should have been watching their friend as she made her grand entrance. Now under scrutiny, Sarah bent quickly to retrieve her bouquet. On the way back to standing, the shadows of the trellis finally allowed her to take Rowan in fully, fighting back feelings of nausea the entire time.

The full skirt seemed rippled, like white cap waves, a thousand well spaced rows making her almost fluid from the narrow waste down. The bodice patched with golden accents and silver edging, the scalloped neckline, those accentuated shoulders and tapered long sleeves. The silvery white fabric she'd been working with for weeks now was at last familiar to her. But where would Rowan ever get the notion for that dress? Not some second rate knock off, not just a ball gown, but Sarah's very own ball gown? Even the almost sapphire color of her dress was suspicious now. That peculiar blue color she couldn't quite name, she had seen it before once too. All the questions about the fairytale, were they coincidence or something more? What reason did she have to torment Sarah with memories?

As the attendants took their seats, the rustle of a rumpled rayon skirt drew the attention of the flustered brunette. One of the woman she'd noticed earlier, focused on her, a dainty grin crossing her darkly stained lips. She seemed curious at Sarah's reaction to the dress, growing more curious the longer she allowed the details to hypnotize her.

Damned if she would continue to entertain these ladies, Sarah looked away, focused on her brother. He looked down at his soon to be wife, took her by her right hand. Sarah accepted her bouquet when she offered it back and smiled politely as if seeing her the way she was dressed was as ordinary as seeing one of her colleagues in a suit and tie. "Doesn't she look amazing," Toby said, his thoughts coming alive through words almost involuntarily.

Finally thankful that her brother had agreed to this ceremony in the local park, Sarah breathed in the fresh air deeply and allowing the light lakeside breeze to dry the beads of perspiration forming along her hairline. She was too dignified to be so disheveled by a few yards of fabric and some twisted metal.

From beneath the ordinary pulpit Sarah borrowed from the telecommunication people at her office, the officiant withdrew a smudge stick. First he held it high in the air, chanting like a madman and stomping his Birkenstocks until the wide rim legs of his linen pants shook and the nearly knee length hem line of his matching tunic bounced. Then he lit the end of the stick, like some giant cigar. It took a few seconds to really get going and just when it did he blew it out again. The smoke circled him in a thin grey line as he sway the smudge stick side to side the entire length of his body, from head to toe.

Stepping from behind the stand, he joined the couple. Smiling both lovingly and wickedly all at the same time, like an executioner standing by the gallows. Fanning the smoke over Toby and Rowan he spoke about cleansing, about alleviating the stress of the preparation, making them light of spirit so they may enter into their union with happy hearts, free to choose their destiny. "Sarah, come. Come Sarah," the voice was as thin as the breeze and she almost didn't respond until she saw the nature nut beckon her forth with his free hand. "Come Sarah," he repeated.

Complying, she laid the bouquets on the ground and stood next to her brother and was 'cleansed' at his side. The aroma of whatever he had strung together with a thine ivory twine was pleasant, sweat, lavender and something else, something Sarah couldn't quite put her finger on, something very earthy. Not patchouli though, patchouli always made her curl up her nose, it smelled like medicine. This wasn't medicine at all, this was something she longed to inhale. It occurred to her that it may have been some kind of marijuana as she heaved in the deep breaths, but by the time the idea registered in her head, she didn't care.

"My sisters," Rowan called over her shoulder. "Please, include my sisters."

"But you told me you were an only child?" something in the recess of Sarah's mind spoke out.

One by one they rose and walked slowly toward the others, each leaned in to kiss Rowan's cheek and then the first stood by Sarah to the bride's left, the second to the groom's left and the last to the right of the bride. As they joined hands the officiant encircled them all wafting the puffs of smoke over them all.

"These women are as close to me as sisters, Sarah. As close as I hope you and will be some day. As close as you and Laney are."

'Had she told Rowan about Laney,' Sarah wondered. Perhaps Toby had done it. It didn't seem to matter much. In fact she was having trouble keeping a coherent thought in her head. Everything sounded like a song to her, and beneath the music, laughter. Happy, absolute laughter.

"Ladies, if you'll take your places, I would like to begin our ceremony," the officiant said. Almost robotic they returned to their original position. Extinguishing the smudge stick in a shell he set on the pulpit, the man in the linen tunic began, "Sons and daughters of mother earth, we unite here today to join Toby Williams to his life mate, Rowan Farthingale. As water is meant to flow from the lakes to the sea, so we follow the path that nature has carved for us. Sometimes we are meant to wander that path alone, and other times we find ourselves teamed together with another source and when we surrender to join with that source, we grow stronger, more powerful. And so Toby's journey has brought him to this point where he will join with Rowan and together they will face the twists and turns that life has in store for them.

"We, as humans, cannot control the powers of nature for we have seen that if we lose respect for nature it will inevitably display its disdain. Now let me ask, Toby Williams, is it in your intent to be joined together with Rowan and do you vow to always raise her up, empower her and make her stronger? Do you accept her as her spirit is and of your own free will? Do you promise to bear with her the ups and downs of life, honor her always and respect her like the precious part of nature that she is?"

Without hesitation, Toby looked lovingly into her eyes and said sincerely, "I do."

"Rowan, is it in your intent to be joined together with Toby and do you vow to always raise him up, empower him and make him stronger? Do you accept him as his spirit is and of your own free will? Do you promise to bear with him the ups and downs of life, honor him always and respect him like the precious part of nature that he is?"

She mustered up a tear filled, "I do" of her own and they looked at each other a long time before the continuation of the ceremony forced them to return their attention to the blue eyes which hid behind ashy auburn hair.

"A ring is forged with no beginning and no end, eternal, meant to symbolize forever..."

"Your baby brother becomes one of us forever..."

Sarah shook off the second voice, the one inside her head.

"And so I ask you now Toby, to place this eternity band on the third finger of Rowan's left hand and repeat after me..."

"Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave..."

Instinctively her head was switching side to side, eager to find some external source for this voice, but unless the birds learned to speak, she was out of luck.

"And Rowan if you would do the same." A minute later it was over. "All that remains to be said then is that as a licensed minister for the state of Illinois, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Williams, you may kiss your bride."

It was a fine kiss, one that made Sarah smile. Neither needy nor aggressive, not too passionate for a wedding, but not cold and hasty like some nervous teenager. It was sweet, welcoming, like coming home after a long time away and being greeted at O'Hare. It was perfect. But most importantly, her brother was happy. He had what he wanted.

Handing Rowan back her flowers, the music played them out. Sarah followed behind. The officiant dismissed the guests, one row at a time, the women in the black dresses last. They chatted, Sarah noticed from behind the rows of chairs. Perhaps they were making a donation to his 'organization'. What was it Rowan said? She'd known them awhile, it's possible then he was like an old friend of the family's.

The guests filed out, hugging and kissing the lone three members of the bridal party commenting on the originality of the ceremony and the detail of Rowan's dress as they made their ways to their cars. Two and a half miles down the road was the restaurant where they would hold the reception. They would congregate there, nibbling on whole grain crackers topped with goat's milk cheese and organic vegetable paste. They would sip sparkling waters and expensive champaign. Sarah made certain a few bottles were available for the ones she knew to be drinkers, namely herself and Laney.

She'd made favors, silver white roses out of tulle, wrapped around delicate candied chocolates and tied down over the business end of heavy duty green plastic spoons. Laney helped her stick up streamers, banners and balloons. More tulle used to make a valance supported what might as well have been a million tiny fairy lights reflecting in the tiny pools of what in the silver dishes which made up the bulk of each table's center piece. The caterer's had agreed to light the floating candles inside each bowl in enough time that the guests would be significantly awe struck upon their arrival. She'd made the fairytale happen for Rowan, just the way she had promised.

They stayed behind, Sarah and Laney, stayed back with Rowan and Toby as the photographer snapped pictures, flashing this way and that and barking directions. Outside, Toby looked for his car. "Don't tell me someone stole my car on my wedding day?" he sighed flicking the button on his key chain with no response.

Snagging the keys from his hand, Laney chuckled, "Hey Tob, let me drive this would ya?"

The confusion lasted only a few seconds until the clattering of hooves brought before them one of Michigan Avenue's finest carriages. Toby looked at his sister, "Sarah, how?"

"The guy who takes care of the horses owed me a favor," she smiled.

"A favor big enough to get them to bring a carriage all the way out to the sticks?"

She shrugged. "What can I say?"

He helped his bride inside. "Coming with us?" he asked his sister.

Pointing to his car which Laney was already bringing around Sarah confirmed that she would be keeping Laney company, "But don't worry," she added. "I won't lose you between here and there."

The photographer snapped a few more shots of the couple a top the padded seat in the back of the carriage. Toby waved back to his sister until she was gone from sight and then turned and kissed his bride. Sarah fell into the tiny car with Laney, looked over at her friend and sighed heavily, "Take me away Jeeves, I need a drink."

"Are you sure you should be drinking?" she asked sincerely. Sarah looked puzzled. "I just figured after you all passed around that fattie, you might not want to put liquor in the mix."

Laughing, Sarah admitted, "I know. What was with that guy? It was like at any minute I expected him to forget about the wedding altogether and run over to hug a tree."

"He was creepy, but whatever was in that incense sure seemed to chill you out."

Slipping on an amber pair of shades, Sarah leaned back in the passenger seat, "You act like it's the first time I've ever had a contact high. Now stop being such a bitch and get me drunk."

The perky brunette squealed a little tire as she pulled out of the parking lot, "As you wish."

* * *

When they arrived at the reception, Sarah and Laney went in through the employee entrance as had been planned. They'd wait for the happy couple to show, then Laney would go and inform the band so they could announce the trio waiting in the kitchen. No sooner had they pulled open the heavy metal door at the back of the parking lot were they greeted by a tall man in a crisp tuxedo. "Hello ladies," he smiled letting his bone white teeth lighten his mulatto face. "Champagne?"

Sarah took up a glass in each hand. Laney reached to accept one from her, but rather than passing it on her friend downed the entire flute like a shot. "Thank you," she told the waiter when she returned the empty glass to his tray.

"Hey sweetheart, more power to you. None of the stiffs out there are drinking it." He turned to Laney a bit so she could grab a glass. She nodded, but doubted very much that he even noticed, as he was immediately back around facing explaining, "I don't get it either. I mean this is expensive shit, the kind of stuff people usually chug like beer at weddings. Somebody spent a pretty penny on all this..."

"Thank you," Sarah interrupted downing her second glass. "Only the best for my little brother."

"You did all this?" he asked indicating the champagne and the general hustle and bustle of the kitchen.

"Yup," she replied procuring her third flute, sipping it this time rather than continuing to down them like lightning.

The waiter took her free hand in his and pressed his lips against the back of it. "Everyone should have a sister like you," he said softly.

Sarah tugged her hand away, "That's what my boyfriend tells me."

"Too bad," he acknowledged turning to leave.

"Sarah?"

When she looked at Laney her eyes said, 'What?' very clearly as she dipped into her flute once more.

"Boyfriend? Ashton? Really?"

"I would say so," she told her friend, backing her statement up with a few of the details from the other night. Inside she felt a certain pride when Laney winced at some of the more graphic bits. "Wouldn't you assume that means we're dating."

"I assume very little when it comes to the opposite sex Sar. Especially someone I know as little about as you know about Ashton."

If she hadn't had such a point, Sarah might have been more deeply offended, but it was true. She knew very little about Ashton over all. He was handsome, talented at love making, a great omelette chef, polite, a smoker. It stuck with her the next morning when she noticed the way he kept his business card tucked in the cellophane of his Marlboro box with a pack of matches. The cover of the matches was dark green with white italicized lettering spelling out something foreign, probably a restaurant. It wasn't really a lot to know about a person, but he was charming and he seemed sincere, maybe it was enough. 'Maybe?' she asked herself. For a beginning, it's plenty. "You didn't have these reservations when you pushed me to take an interest in him."

"Interest in him yes, but I didn't tell you to start playing house before you knew who you were playing with!"

"Could we not do this here, please? I already feel like a complete spectacle." Sarah downed the last of her champagne as she heard the employee entrance door swing open. Laney hugged her quickly and pecked her on the cheek indicating that she understood.

Toby's cold hands felt like ice on Sarah's open back as he grabbed his sister and swung her around. "I couldn't have asked for more," he shrieked. "I couldn't have even asked for this," he admitted as he set her down. "You are the best and most beautiful sister to ever be." He kissed her cheek affectionately.

"Hush," she reprimanded him as if he were still her little child. Straightening his tie and jacket, Sarah couldn't help but tear up.

"Are we ready?" Laney asked, ready to inform the band.

"And you?" Toby broke from Sarah's compulsive straightening. "You are an angel! Talking care of my sister, the way you do. Laney, you're like another sister to me." Leaning in to hug her he said in a mock whisper, "Rowan's just lucky I found her before I had a chance to fall for you."

Laney let out a shy giggle as her cheeks turned a rosy pink, "Yeah well she's just lucky I used to think of you as my best friend's geeky little brother otherwise you wouldn't have been looking."

"I am most fortunate on all counts," she conceded charging forward to join the group.

"That dress certainly is unusual," Laney commented.

"Thank you," Rowan nodded.

"Where did you find a dress like that?" Sarah asked beginning to feel a little of the flush she had during the ceremony.

"I had it patterned," she commented, "after something I'd seen in a book somewhere."

"What book?" Sarah asked quickly.

"Laney, would you kindly inform the band that my husband and I are ready to be introduced."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," she stuttered distracted by Sarah's contorted face.

"Do I or do I not have the most beautiful women in this building all to myself?" Toby said coming between the women and slinging an arm around each one. Sarah to his left, Rowan to his right. He held them each close and alternated soft kisses on their foreheads.

His wedding band was thick, flattened in the center like a signature ring. Sarah noticed that rather than his initials there was a crude, almost stick representation of a fountain, a variety of leaves hung over the spouting streams in an array. She couldn't help thinking it was an odd insignia, but she wasn't afford much time for analysis as she heard the band leader quickly end a piece with a rolling drum beat. "Ladies and Gentlemen if I could have your attention at the side entrance. It is my esteemed pleasure to introduce Miss Sarah Williams, sister to the groom."

Through the applause, Sarah wore a pasted smile. Having the attention on her was most uncomfortable and being introduced as Miss when she had once been the one to wear the white gown almost humiliating. She walked quickly to her seat at the head table next to Laney. "And the couple of the evening, our newest husband and wife who have requested their first dance be a musical number infused with natures sounds. Here to dance for you to a melody entitled _Cathedral of Trees_, Mr. and Mrs. Toby Williams."

Taking to their feet, the guests in attendance rose and clapped their hands. Toby walked his new bride to the center of the small dance floor. Holding her tenderly, they spun in time to the magnificent musical piece they had chosen. Even the band stood back in awe as the recorded piece played, in awe of how fluidly they moved. Sarah sat back listening to Laney talk about how perfect they were for one another, quietly refusing to voice her most honest assessment to anyone.

Flute after flute of sweet liquid tolerance caressed Sarah's throat washing down the organic greens, the hand raised salmon with tofu and baby carrots, and especially the wedding flan. By the time she was announced by the band for the toast, she found Rowan very nearly sufferable. "What do you say to your little brother on his wedding day?" Looking down at him lovingly she swept a stray hair back from his eye. "Since I was fifteen, you have been the best part of me. You were the one who taught me that I could love someone else more than I could love myself. Now I suppose you're learning that lesson for yourself. And Rowan, it's easy for me to see why you fell in love with my brother. So while I could wish you an unimaginable number of years of wedded bliss, but I haven't got much experience with that, so I wish you all the happiness that Toby has brought me for as many years as fate grants the two of you. To Toby and Rowan!'

Glasses clanked and there were a few cheers. Toby kissed his wife and then his sister. "Thank you," he whispered. Sarah smiled.

"Come on you sentimental bitch, let's dance," Laney said dragging her away from the table where Toby and his bride were getting ever more intimate. "You're being too hard on yourself," she said when they reached the tiled portion of floor. "Timmy loved you. Probably more than he's loved anyone since you, he just wanted other things."

"Things I couldn't give him," Sarah sighed.

"Be that as it may, it isn't your fault that he couldn't tough it out. He gave up Sarah, not you."

"Did you even like Timothy?"

"Hell no," she smiled. "That bastard ruined my chances of ever having you as my lesbian life partner."

"Sorry, you're not my type," Sarah laughed.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Rowan approach with the women she noticed earlier at the ceremony. "Sarah, my dear, I know there was some confusion earlier about my sisters, This is Mia, Darice and Kirsten. Our mother's were all closest of friends and well I suppose you could say we're carrying on that tradition."

"Lovely to meet you," Sarah lied as she shook hands and smiled politely. "So glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't have missed it," Mia said through a thin smile.

"It was a lovely ceremony," Darice complimented quickly shoving a baked cracker with goat cheese in her mouth to keep from marring the feigned enthusiasm on her face.

Kirsten remained quiet, eerily so, just taking them in.

Rowan periodically glanced at Laney with interest until she final asked the blunt question, "Is this your date?"

"Oh yeah, yeah," Sarah said. Darice coughed on some crumbs which must have scratched her throat when she gasped at that fact. "Oh no, not like that," she corrected. "Laney and I have been friends since we were in college. She's known Toby since he was a child."

"We understand you raised your brother," Kirsten said, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"I did."

"We've all made a bit of a something for you, to say thank you Sarah," Mia explained. "We realize how much you've done for our sister and our new brother-in-law."

Kirsten had something in her hands, something Sarah didn't remember having seen there and she had no clue where she'd managed to get it from. "It's just a token Darice explained, hand made."

Sarah took the cloth coated box from Kirsten. Wine red silk fitted neatly over a box, the folds meticulous, the fabric completely smooth. Lifting the lid, Sarah looked inside. "It's beautiful," she said and it was. It truly was beautiful.

"Have a good look at it," Rowan instructed as she reached inside to pull one box free from the other. "Darice made the box," it was a deep black mahogany box. "The engraving is Kirsten's handy work," Sarah saw an eye set in a sunburst and surrounded by a snake joined nose to tail in a circle." The dance floor was beginning to crowd. Rowan guided them all to a nearby table.

The box was set directly before Sarah and she was made curious to open it by Rowan's prodding. Inside the lid was another engraving, pencil thin in perfect script, '_The serpent wise deals death to lies.'_ "It really is magnificent," she told Kirsten earnestly.

"Thank you, I learned from my father."

"The herbs are from my collection," Rowan added, "and Mia made the wrapping."

"Well for having different mothers," Laney commented, "you certainly all have a way with crafts."

"Oh we're all rather homebodies, I suppose," Mia explained. "I'm sure that lends itself to working on crafts. Enough about us then, we're all very curious to know more about Sarah and how she put her life on hold to raise our brother-in-law."

"It's nothing we should talk about on such an occasion," Sarah said, eagerly re-packing her gift in an effort to change the topic.

Kirsten had no intention of allowing that. "Rowan tells us that her theme for her wedding is in part inspired by your own personal fairytale. I must admit to you Sarah, I'm a huge fan of fairytales. I find it absolutely fascinating that you should have one all your own. I'd love to hear about it."

"'Bout what?" a deep male voice asked from over Sarah's shoulder.

"Toby?" she said surprised.

"Look at you all, sitting around like family already. I can't tell you how happy this makes me!" he exclaimed. "So what are we all talking about?" There was a silence, a quiet hush over the whole table. "Oh, I get it, girl talk. I've interrupted something."

Kirsten smiled her charming smile, "Quite the contrary. We were actually just talking about you. More specifically about how your sister raised you and the fairytale she used to tell you as a child."

"Are you kidding. I used to love that story! Oh Sarah, won't you tell it. I haven't heard that thing since I was a kid."

"You're still a kid Tob," she chided. "It's your wedding day, do you really want to hear some stupid bedtime story I read you as a teenager?" She saw his flopping ebony locks and took that as a yes. "Pull up a chair then, you can fill in the bits I don't remember."

"Sarah?" Laney asked curious as to why she would do this. She was so sensitive about any mention of her childhood, especially this particular memory. Very aware of what a strong memory this was, Laney had been privy to the heated battles of Toby's youth when he had been convinced that the tale was more fact than fiction. Her eagerness to share this, with essentially strangers, seemed out of character to say the least.

"What?"

"Do you really want to do this?"

"My brother wants to hear his favorite story, Laney. Who am I to deny him?"

"I think you've had too much champagne," she mumbled.

"Most tales," Sarah began as the women at the table listened on more eagerly than Laney cared for, "start off with 'Once upon a time', but this story began long before anyone ever started telling it. This story began when the Goblin King fell in love with a young mortal girl, much too young to understand what something as expansive as love. Immortals do not love as you and I do. They do not feel things in the depths of their hearts, but rather with full force of their soul. They do not gift each other with conventional presents, they gift each other with magic, and the Goblin King had given this mortal certain powers.

"Now this mortal, as you might have imagined, was no ordinary mortal on her own, otherwise she would not have been the one to capture the eye of the Goblin King. This mortal lived in a world of flight and fancy. She believed in the most unbelievable things, imagined vividly the most unimaginable things. It was as if fantasy realms had been built just for her. Her room was filled with statues and figurines, books on myth and legend and she felt each one of them as deeply as if they had been entries in her own diary.

As with all great fairytales, this mortal had a step-mother and that step-mother was no more ordinary than was the mortal girl, for that wouldn't have made sense, rather she was the cruel, manipulative step-mother that one read about in _Cinderella_ and what have you. She captured the heart of the mortal girl's father, bore him a child, and the mortal girl's life from that day forward was one of servitude and slavery. She was never permitted to go out with her friends, as she was forever expected to give up any plans she had to stay home with their child and contend with his endless caterwaul. What little time she asked for herself to spend quietly in the park with her tales and her dog was so often disturbed it was hardly worth having in the first place.

"On this particular day, she and her dog had gone to the park, by the lake, much like the one where the ceremony was held today," the statement sobered Sarah some, it had been much like the open field where Toby and Rowan had been married, without even knowing this story, or so she had claimed Rowan had gotten that dressed and planned for her gown. She was very aware of how illogical that was, but she was beyond the point of caring. Sarah was compelled now to tell her story, not finishing it nearly as impossible as denying it had never happened. Shaking her head quickly, like someone had a hold of her hair, she went on.

"The girl had run off to the field to practice the lines of one of her favorite stories in a dress she had sewn completely on her own out of bed linens. A project, which by the way, got her grounded for two weeks. It was worth it. The gown was magnificent for something done by someone so young. It was a simple shift with bell sleeves, pockets sewn into them for easy storage of any prompts or scripts she may have needed. A few bits of bunched fabric to accentuate the seam at the sleeves and a pair of curtain tie backs sewn together to make a braided rope to sling about her waist and a few faux laces at her neckline, all topped off with an old headband covered in ribbons and adorn with flowers she'd glued in place. A real mother would have been proud, would have admired her craftsmanship." As if they understood because of their own craftiness, the sisters nodded. "But a step mother, a step mother can only see excuses to punish and condemn.

"The mortal girl had only just arrived there at her special place, only barely recited a few lines when the rain came in great torrents from the sky, as if her step-mother had special ordered it. She ran home, fast as she could, her dog at her heels. She was wet and cold and furious, but was she met with concern? Was she met with compassion? No, only chastising and berating. She flew to her room, eager to escape into the fantasy world which had welcomed her so many times before, but the baby in the next room wailed his endless wails. Screaming constantly as if nothing could satisfy him.

"She burst into his room, irate that he'd managed to finagle another one of her cherished collectibles from her room. She met his screams head on. Cry for cry. Screech for screech. With the hope that believing in things like goblins and fairies afforded young girls, she recited one of the incantations from one of her books. 'Goblin King, Goblin King,' she called into the night, 'wherever you may be, take this child of mine far away from me.' Nothing happened. Frustrated she tucked the useless child back into his crib. Silly incantations, she thought. What's the point in writing something like that if it's not going to work? But what she was too young to realize was that magic was often more simple than all those books and movies made it out to be. It was sometimes as easy as asking for exactly what you wanted.

"As she switched out the light, the mortal girl did exactly that and as quickly as her parents' room had grown dark, her brother's cries had become a memory."

Toby was bouncing in his chair like an impetuous child, practically squeaking. "This is where it gets good."

"The thunder outside the window may as well have been coming from the canopy of the bed for as loud as it had grown. On the balcony an owl batted against the french doors until they burst forth with such force the mortal girl crossed her hands over her face to protect herself from what she was sure would be flying shards of glass. Rather the owl seemed to, before her eyes, turn into a man. By now you might have guessed that no ordinary mortal, forced to suffer under the tyranny of no ordinary step-mother, would no doubt encounter some extraordinary owl and no owl was so extraordinary that he could become man, so this man could be no ordinary man. This was the Goblin King, in the flesh, before her.

"Our mortal was brave. She confronted him, and though she shrieked at his glamours and magics, when he explained to her how he had taken the child, how it was hidden in his castle beyond the goblin city protected by a massive labyrinth, when he told her the only way to prevent having the child turned into one of his goblins was to solve the labyrinth, our mortal joyfully accepted his challenge and set off to save her brother.

"This is also not to say that the Goblin King was not an impressive immortal. He was. Tall, dark, long wild blonde hair and the most mysterious eyes, mismatched and sharp, but tender. She almost felt like he had taken pity on her when he stood there in her parents' room. The way he so genuinely said she was no match for him, as though he wanted to spare her the heartache of all that lie in store for her. The way he offered her thirteen hours as if she had been the one thousandth mortal to run the labyrinth and therefore entitled to some special prize. The way he'd come up so close behind her, warning her the path was longer than she thought. His breath against her ear, warm, sincere. At fifteen we don't always realize what we do when we grow older, that being the magic that is making ones knees buckles with a simple phrase, making ones palms sweat just by being too near them, or how a gapping jaw is sometimes more than a display of surprise. Our mortal knew nothing of the magic of love in its initial stages and how much like hate it could be, so she mistook the crawling skin and queasy stomach and set her first foot forward on the amber sands of the Underground.

"There she met a dwarf. He was somewhat foul and just barely waist high. He tried to discourage her from going on, but it was no use at all. She was too headstrong. Her first lesson in the labyrinth, he taught her. Things aren't always as they seem, speak carefully, ask the questions that you mean to ask."

A waiter brought round some bottled waters and Sarah took one from his tray, telling this story was making her mouth quite dry. "That's better," she sighed. "In fact, many dangers awaited the heroine, just as the dwarf had told her, but many friends awaited her inside. There was the tiny worm who first helped her on her way. He'd offered her tea, showed her turns and twists in what she perceived as endless straight paths, gave her hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.

"It seemed for every up, she had a down. After all, if I hadn't mentioned it before now, the labyrinth was a cruel and terribly unfair place. The first being a challenge at a set of doors. One door led to certain death, the other would allow her to carry on, if only she could solve the riddle. It wasn't easy, but a heroine doesn't become a heroine by failing. Naturally success was short lived, as just inside the doors was a shaft that opened up and swallowed her. Thousands of hands reached out from the walls, grabbing, groping, dropping and catching her before they finally asked her to pick a direction. Not every decision a young girl makes is wise and this was no exception. The mortal was trapped in a dark, cold oubliette.

"Then the most extraordinary thing happened. That dwarf who'd showed no interest in her at first was there at her side, eager to help her out of the labyrinth. Even as they made their way through the dark tunnels of the labyrinth, even when the Goblin King came to warn him about betraying his orders, the dwarf stood at her side."

Jareth had been particularly intimidating in the tunnels Sarah recalled. "The Goblin King had such an oppressive manner, leaning in, hovering over her until she could barely breathe. The mortal chalked it up to nerves and as she watched the fluid movements of his leather clad hand as he took away some of those precious hours he'd just given her, she'd mistaken the captivating smoothness of his gesture for magic. I suppose it was, but it was more too.

"She and the dwarf had pushed him too far. The mortal realized that as they ran down the tunnels trying to escape a huge circular menagerie of spinning blades. She heard the dwarf call it a cleaner and she couldn't help wondering about the type of cleaning it was meant to do. But he helped her escape, nonetheless, and once they were above ground again, in a giant hedge maze, they felt stronger. Together they happened upon a wise man who was no more help than a stone, but the mortal's world had no such thing as designated wise man with talking hats and immortal wisdom.

"It wasn't until they heard the deep cries of a beast in the distance that the dwarf showed his cowardice and ran off. As it happened, the beast was really no beast at all, but a tender creature being tortured by some goblin guards. The mortal girl freed the beast and he befriended her. Now armed with a giant beast, she felt even more as if she'd conquer this labyrinth.

"Just as her confidence grew, two doors materialized. Unlike the first set of doors she met, neither door here knew where it led. She'd chosen right up until now and gathered that changing her mind was no use when it hadn't yet failed her, and so she and her new friend entered the right door into a massive forest, littered with cobwebs and greenery. It was both frightening and majestic all at once. In most fairy tales something dangerous waits in the wood for those who journey too far, who ignore the path for the distractions of the forest. This wood was no different. In seconds, the huge beast she'd entered the forest with disappeared as quietly as a cloud falling from the sky. She was alone and calling for her friend the dwarf when they appeared.

"They danced and sang and did all sorts of the most ridiculous things, tugging off their body parts and tossing them about, befuddled by the idea that the mortal girl was not so easily disassembled as they were. Fierys, they called themselves, but the mortal fought on, tossing the heads of her attackers aside until finally the dwarf who had by now developed a knack for saving her at the last possible second dropped her a rope which she climbed to safety on the side of a tall stone wall. This was the wall which surround the bog of eternal stench, an aptly named obstacle which separated the fiery forest from the paths to the goblin city."

"The goblin city?" Mia interrupted.

Toby waved his hand at her, never looking away from his sister, "Just wait for it," he advised. "Nobody tells this story like Sarah. Nobody."

"The smell from the bog defied words and the walls were collapsing beneath them, so carefully they inched along a ledge of the wall, but just before they reached the end, the ledge gave way and they landed in a small patch of dirt where they had found the previous misplaced beast. Together the trio set out to the only bridge which crossed the bog.

"A small fox guarded the bridge, he and his dog, well steed as it were to him. His permission was the necessary requirement for using the bridge, but he seemed so intent on withholding it. The dwarf was the first to trick him, eagerly running across the bridge while the tiny fox was busy fending off the giant beast. It was the mortal who finally solved his riddle by merely asking for his permission. I told you magic was sometimes this easy. When the mortal set foot on to the bridge she realized just how old and shaky it was. Much like the narrow ledge of the wall, the bridge took little wear to crumble beneath her feet. Only a quick reaction saved her from the bog as she clutch the pliant branch of a bare tree overhead.

"It was then the mortal learned that the beast had powers of his own, power to call upon the rocks They rolled in from the shores, rose up from the bog and created a path that was safe for her, the beast, the fox and his 'steed' to cross. Their party numbered five now and victory seemed only steps away, but no good story goes that smoothly.

"Beyond the bog was another patch of forest. The tiny fox assured her the paths in these woods would have her to the goblin city by morning, but as the wise man had warned her, 'the way forward is sometimes the way back.' They had all been walking so long, exhausting their minds and bodies, they were all so hungry, that when the dwarf offered her a perfect fleshy peach, she didn't resist biting into it eagerly. The effects of the poison inside were immediate and just before she fell into dream, she saw her friend walk off, disappointed in himself for the part he had been forced to play.

"What followed was a dream so real, it could hardly be called a dream. The mortal was clad in a gown as glamorous as the one that Rowan wears now and thrust into the middle of the most ornate masquerade she'd ever imagined. Everyone laughing and acting lewd, debauched. She smelt the stale liquor on their breath as they cackled at her. Ever constant she seemed to search for him, the king. He had been the one to bring her here after all. She'd catch a glimpse of him somewhere, between two dancers, in a mirror, around the edges of the countless chandeliers. His voice filled the room until he seemed everywhere and no where all at once, and that was when she found him, or to be more accurate, he found her.

"The Goblin King wore a finely tailored suit, sequined blue, nearly the color of my gown, only richer, deeper, like Neptune's eyes must seem when he's prepared to launch a storm upon the sea." Sarah stared forward, lost in her own reverie, recalling the way he looked at her across the room, around the other attendants as if they didn't exist to him. "The color from his coat stolen and streaked in that feral blonde hair that looked nearly cemented in place. She gasped at first when he took her roughly into his arms able only to concentrate on those oddly mismatched eyes and the melody which rang from him like a bell, came from his lips like the song of the bird hatches so naturally from between their beak. This too must be his magic, or so she thought, hypnotizing her when she had better things to do. Now you and I both know better, but then, then the girl knew nothing, nothing near what a girl in the arms of a king should know.

"She sway in his arms, as pliable as the branch she'd clung to only hours earlier, so able to bend, so easy to break, but he handled her like glass. A few of those cemented blonde strands stroked her hand as it rest on his shoulder and she found it was much more like spun silk than cement. She would have let him kiss her then, if it hadn't been for the laughter and the keen observation of the others in attendance at the ball. Everything about his posture made it seem inevitable, the way he kept staring at her mouth and while the idea hadn't occurred to her before now, it refused to leave her consciousness in that moment. Soon enough the grandfather clock began to toll. There was so little time left, she couldn't dance, she certainly couldn't waste time kissing the Goblin King, not with her brother's life at stake. The mortal girl broke free of his firm embrace and ran to the mirrored borders of the room. In her hand she clutched a nearby chair and with all her might she hurled the two items together until they shattered.

"When she awoke, the girl was spread eagle atop a mountain of junk, her memories as broken as the mirror she had shattered. Why was she here? What did she require so badly? She felt the weight of the peach in her palm and looked down. A tiny green worm made its way from the pit and crawled over the peach flesh. Revolted she tossed the fruit away and struggled to rise.

"Suddenly the heap moved and the girl was met by a little old junk lady laden with bits of things she considered treasures. Crafty as the woman was, she led the mortal to a replica of her home, convinced her that she wanted to stay here with her things and began to strap them to the heroine until she too began to look much like the junk lady herself. But it was the book, the book the mortal found on the dresser, the one that she had tucked in the pocket of her gown when she was at the park earlier that day. That tiny palm sized thing that reminded her why she was here. When the girl called the things around her junk, the illusion crumbled and there to lift her up were her friends, the fox, the dog and the beast.

"Onward they marched toward the goblin city where they were met by a giant metallic soldier wielding an axe. It was the dwarf who would appear in his traditional last minute style to expose the fraud for nothing more than a robot. The tiny group fended off the protectors of the gate, but once inside the goblin city they were met with more opposition, but this was a band of fighters for the right and they would not so easily be undone by a few goblins and their arsenal. The beast called on the rocks and the tiny army fought their way into the castle, but this was not the last great battle which would ger her back the child.

"Once the goblins had been defeated, it was up to the girl to journey into the king's castle and face the Goblin King on her own, for that is the way all great victories are won. Her friends promised to be no more than a call away, should she need them and that knowledge eased her. Up the spiral staircase she went until she met a landing. The room around her looked like it had been brought to life from an M.C. Escher drawing, stairs that went nowhere and doorways with not floor on the other side, ceilings to walk on and walls to climb.

"When the king appeared, he was clad in black leather, in spots accented by a blood red crushed velvet which may have captured more of her attention had he not brought the child with him. The mortal watched on fearful as he defied the laws of gravity with his crawling, carrying on with a glass ball given to him as if it were some toy. The king too seemed immune as he sprang up from beneath the floors on which the girl stood and faded into thin air as he paced passed her. When at last she saw her brother sitting still on a landing far beneath where she stood, the mortal girl summoned all of her courage and leapt to him. As she fell, the room around her burst apart, huge chunks of stone hung in midair and the notion in her head that she had expired.

"From the darkest doorway emerged the king, all in white, smug. He circled her, taunting her with his superiority and making ridiculous promises of insurmountable periods of time no teenage girl could conceive and talking about emotions no one her age could understand, not fully, not with the power he meant them, but he went on. She couldn't speak as eloquently as he did and she had no magic to counter his, so she relied on her books once more. Verbatim she spoke, 'Through dangers untold and hardship unnumbered I have fought my way here through the goblin city, for my will is as strong as yours..'

"There he was offering up one of his crystals again, all her dreams contained inside. She didn't even look, perhaps if she had, she'd have seen her truest wishes and then the tale I tell you now would have been a different one entirely." For the first time telling this story, Sarah marveled at the honesty of what she had just said. Oh yes, were she to have looked into the crystal Jareth offered her all those years ago and learned about herself the truths she seemed to need to bury, the story she was telling would have been much different, and there may not have been a wedding to tell it at, or a groom to have the wedding for that matter. "But our heroine stood fast. 'My will is as strong as yours, my powers as great...my powers as great...' You see, the mortal girl had always had trouble with that last line and her unforgiving step-mother had interrupted her rehearsal today, making recalling it even more difficult. Repeating the lines leading up to that one, she stared at the ground, imagining her simple white dress, with the secret pockets and she pulled out of that pocket an invisible red leather book with gold lettering and flipped to the final pages where her eyes read words that didn't exist in the world, her mouth repeating them almost involuntarily, 'You have no power over me.'

"Her statement echoed as the Goblin King's robes fell like tattered sheets and he was gone. While she watched her effect on his world she couldn't help but feel a certain amount of regret for what she had done. But the mortal girl still didn't understand why she was feeling like she had just lost, why she wasn't happier to see the Goblin King fall. All those feelings he'd brought out in her would all make sense but not until many years later, when seeing him again, summoning him with any number of combinations of words she tried failed to bring him back. Years later when it occurred to her just what kind of devastation she might have left behind it almost shadowed the fact that when she returned home her baby brother was snug in his crib, sleeping. Almost." Reaching over, she tasseled Toby's hair.

Just then the band leader approached their table, he knelt subtly and whispered, "Ms. Williams, I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's time for the last dance."

"Yes, yes of course," she stuttered some, mentally still in that story telling mode she'd been immersed in for almost a half an hour now. "Toby, time for that last dance." She embraced him hard, suddenly filled with tears that refused to stay behind her eyes, but rather stained the rented shoulders of his tuxedo. "I can't believe you're married. I can't believe you're not mine any more, that I took you so much for granted when you were."

"Hey Sar," he said softly as he lifted her sad eyes to his. "I'll always be yours sis, forever."

"So what was the simple phrase that wished away the child?" Rowan asked.

Even Toby wrinkled his nose in disbelief at her question. "Come on honey," he said taking her by her arm, "one last dance and then I get to take my wife home." He kissed her sweetly.

No sooner had they left the table, did Kirsten turn to Sarah, "So what were those words, Sarah?"

"Huh?" She was still in somewhat of a daze from hearing her brother speak to her the way he had. "Oh, ah, I wish..."

Laney quickly interrupted this confession, "I'm sorry. It's been really great getting to know you all, but Sarah and I have last minute things to work out with the caterers and the band, the hall rental, those sorts of things and I know you'll understand when I apologize, but we simply must go."

"Of course," Darice said graciously. "If there's anything we can do to help..."

"No, thank you, but we've worked most of it out in advance, we just need to make final payments and tip the wait staff. Sarah couldn't possibly.."

"No, no, I couldn't. It was my pleasure to do that for them and to meet all of you. Thank you all again for the lovely and unique gift." Sarah shook the hands of all three women.

It was Mia who pulled her in and hugged her tightly, "I'd really like to ask you about that fairytale sometime. Just give me a call, my numbers in the box."

Sarah shook her head vaguely and excused herself, but not before Mia could shove the gift which she had very nearly left behind into her arms. "Don't forget."

"How could I?"

* * *

Sarah sat at a table in the back of the hall. The clean up crews worked around her and Laney as they gathered up the centerpieces and rented decorations which would need returned the following Monday. Sarah held her head. She could feel the thumping of her blood against the thin skin of her temples. Her head seemed to harden until she grew so top heavy her head fell into her hands.

"Hey girl," Laney's hand made soothing circles on Sarah's exposed back. In response, she clutched at her friend's waist and began to sob. "Hey, Sar, c'mon. This has been a hard thing for you, Toby's wedding. It's brought up a lot of delicate memories. You need to sleep it off sweetie. Let's get you home. The world will look better from your bedroom window, kay?"

"Oh Laney," she looked up at her with huge mascara circles staining her face, streaks running down to her cheek bones. "Did you ever feel like you would never be happy again?"

Grabbing a left over napkin, she wiped at the black tar on Sarah's face. "No honey, but if it looks likes this. I don't want to."

That evoked a tiny giggle, "Thanks a lot."

"C'mon, I'll take you home."

* * *

When they arrived at Sarah's complex, Laney shuffled her and the boxes onto a service elevator bypassing the guards at the front desk who she knew Sarah wouldn't have wanted to see her as she was. Once inside the apartment, she stowed the boxes away in the hall closet. Sarah stumbled to the end of her bed, eager to get free of the silver heeled shoes she now refered to as horrid metal spikes. Behind her neck she fiddled pointlessly with the clasp of her dress, whining audibly when it refused to yield to her.

Laney came in as the whine grew to a near scream and batted away her friend's fumbling fingers so she could undo the clasp. Sarah held the diamond shaped bodice against her chest as she dragged her feet along the carpet to the bathroom. From the doorway, she looked back sorrowfully at Laney, "You'll be here when I get out?" Laney nodded.

It had been a long time since she had seen Sarah look this bad and her heart ached for her dear friend. No one knew the things she'd seen and felt, not like Laney did, not even Toby. Laney had been there when that fairytale had seemed so very real. She sat up nights watching Sarah call the Goblin King, seeing him never come, and then burying her life in Timothy as if he were her last chance at salvation. She hid as much as she could from everyone else convinced she needed to protect them and the whole time no one was able to protect her. Laney made a cup of strong black coffee and found Sarah in a night gown spread across the center width of her bed. Her body was still wet in spots from the shower and the silk of the gown clung to the curves of her figure. Stuck to the sides of her face were wide sections of her dark tresses. Laney put down the mug, the steaming sobering liquid inside. Extending a hand, she pulled Sarah up to sitting and proceeded to run a thick toothed comb through Sarah's hair with ease. Caring for Sarah this way made Laney's maternal instincts kick in, but now was no time to debate the woes of not yet being in a committed relationship where the opportunity to bare a child could so easily arise with her seemingly barren confidant.

Muscles in Sarah's legs seemed to be turned off, her knees together, her ankles spread as wide as her shoulders, her ankles turning her feet inward. Laney put her back together like a scarecrow after a windstorm and handed her the coffee.

"How much did I tell them?" Sarah asked.

"A lot, not everything, but enough. I have to tell you, I was rather surprised the way you went on. It was as if you were entranced, and yet you managed the presence of mind to tell the story in third person, which was to your benefit I think" Sarah sipped the coffee slowly content at the warmth it spread through her hands. Laney saw her growing more rigid, more like there were bones beneath her Tuscan pink skin, blushed by the hot liquid which had caressed her inside and out. "They were just too interested Sarah. I don't know why it bothered me so much, but it bothered me."

"Why would they give two shits about a fairytale?"

"I don't know sweetie," Laney admitted folding her arm around her friend, stroking the ends of her still damp locks. "I don't know, but they were. I just can't believe you opened up to them the way you did."

"You shouldn't of let me drink so much."

"Let you? I could hardly stop you! Must have had two bottles of sodies all on your own." The women hadn't used that expression since they first met in college. One of the girls in their group managed to score a bottle of champagne for a party they were having and being that neither of them had tasted the honey colored liquid before, they affectionately named it a 'sodie' after the way the bubbles tickled their face like ginger ale poured cold and fresh from a can.

Sarah leaned back against the headboard and clutched her skull with her free hand. "If I hadn't drank so damn much I wouldn't have even mentioned the fucking Goblin King!"

"Yeah well, it wasn't like a drunken confession Sarah. It was too articulate, it was like, like you wanted to tell the story."

Sarah handed her the coffee now sick of the bitter taste on her tongue. "Yeah, cause discussing my embodied dissolutions with complete strangers at wedding receptions is a past time of mine."

"Sleep this off Sarah honey. You've got a lot of skeletons to face come the light of day and you're just not ready to do this now." Sarah nodded. Laney pulled down the bed sheets and Sarah put herself in a position to crawl between them. Laney handed her two aspirin and the coffee, one last time, to down the pills, which she did with a disagreeable face and a quick 'yuck'.

Swinging her legs between the sheets, Sarah looked up at her good friend, now hung over her, a look of concern on her face. "Stay with me tonight?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Laney looked at the clock. It was damn near the middle of the night anyway. She pulled a tank out of Sarah's drawer, her height, or lack there of making it almost long enough to be a night shirt, but for decency she added a pair of sweat shorts, then she brushed her hair lose of all the fixative she'd put in it that morning and crawled in with her friend. They faced each other in the bed, glad to be in the company they needed and to have the companionship they craved. Laney brushed the stray hairs from Sarah's face. "Sweet dreams honey," she reassured

"God no," Sarah said, already fighting the sleep that so desperately wanted to take her over, "the last thing I want to do is dream."

* * *

Light of day arrived as Laney had promised. Sarah's whole body ached as though the pain in her head had managed to somehow creep down to her feet depositing remembrances all through out the spots in between. She made all the traditional vows to never drink again as she struggled to sit upright and shuffle her disagreeable legs in the direction of her bedroom window, the one out of which Laney had sworn the world would look better. Sarah's fingers, still overly warm from having been tucked safely beneath her covers for a long sleep gingerly fell against the pane. The glass was uncommonly cold for June, forcing Sarah to quickly withdrawal her touch. As though she'd reached into fire she couldn't keep from examining her fingertips for blisters.

Looking off into the sky, she saw a storm rolling in, heavy grey clouds that promised rain in torrents, heavy Chicago winds and which explained the uncommon cold she felt. Ever still it was June and this was not typical weather, even in the strangest seasons. "Best I stay in bed," she told the rapidly approaching darkness. When she spun round, she found Laney sprawled over the middle of her bed, the same bed which during the final days of her marriage seemed large enough to sail a boat across, dwarfed by a tiny body, arms and legs crocked like a pinwheel to cover maximum acreage. "It would seem I'm no more wanted there," Sarah sighed.

From behind her she heard something plink against the glass. Rotating toward the source, she found nothing of consequence. "Probably hail," she muttered. "Probably hail." Her long fingers raked her hair, catching in the knots a night of tossing and turning had skillfully created. No sooner had she turned away had she heard the sound again, twice in quick succession. Curiosity spun her back toward the window in time for her to see fluttering wings crash against her window. She blinked in an effort to wish away the image. It couldn't have been what her eyes were trying to tell her it was.

Closer she stepped toward the window, prepared to look out, but not prepared for what she would see. There in the center of the city, a snowy white barn owl, eye level with the penthouse window's diving and soaring, crashing against the glass while lightning streaked an otherwise plum colored sky that had succeeded in making night out of morning in less than ten minutes. Sarah watched the glass shake as the angry bird of prey continued attacking the glass.

As she had once before in a dream, Sarah drew her hands before her face to protect them only seconds before the window shattered out sending an array of shards in every direction. She felt the strong winds come from his beating wings as the force of the blast knocked her to the floor. Sarah lie there waiting for her vision to return from the last mighty lightning crash and wondering how it were Laney was able to sleep so soundly through all of this. Kicking her heels, she backed towards the bed to check on her friend.

"She's fine," a deep and even voice told her. Sarah shook from the inside out, a tiny flutter much like the twitch of an eye, barely visible to those who didn't know to look for it, but to her great dismay, the intruder at her feet knew all too well. "Come now Sarah, you didn't think I'd hurt an innocent in all of this did you?"

There had been many a man gifted with a voice like song, but he was different from them all. Different in that words seemed to turn to music as they kissed his lips goodbye, not completing the metamorphosis until they mixed with the air and were heard. Hearing him say her name, after all these years shocked the mortal to her very soul, even a mature woman in her mid-thirties, she was no less susceptible to the strange melodic draw he pulled through her moniker.

"Obviously you did," he said sinking to her level a crude sneer on his perfect lips. "There's much you have to learn about me, dove. I have changed ever so since last you faced me."

"I..I..I.." Sarah could only stutter, pressed against an end table hypnotized by his mere presence.

"You..you..you.." he mimicked back.

Gulping, she hoped to dislodge the lump which seemed to have taken siege of her voice box for the time being. "I called you," she said plainly, apologetically almost. "You never came until now?" She was growing defiant, daring to question the Goblin King.

"And did you think I would rush to your window when you called upon me?" Sarah shook her head stupidly, like a child confronted about the reality of Santa Claus. "Not so I'm afraid." He stood slowly as the mortal took him in, the full scope of him, his towering height, his diminishing stare, his fascinating confidence. "You see Sarah," he explained as he paced before her, "I once offered you power and control, but no longer. I wasn't about to bend to your demands. I was waiting." He offered his hand to her and she took it. His gloves felt slick and warm to the touch. Effortlessly he brought her to her feet and with an extra tug, she was tight in his embrace. "Waiting for you to ripen," Jareth smiled down at her wickedly.

With minimal effort she twisted in his grasp evoking only chuckles from the king. "Come love," he said touching the side of her face softly with his gloved fingers. "Haven't you and I played enough games in our short time together or perhaps you fancy a different sort of game now Sarah?" His lips loomed ever closer as she felt the hand at her back slide lower to the gentle swell of her hips until it rest softly on her backside.

Sarah could smell the honey sweetness of his breath. She wanted him to kiss her, anticipated it, leaned back her head and waited for it like a fool. Hadn't she heard what he'd told her earlier?

The king moved his fingers over her lips feeling her head give way to his most tender touch. Jareth leaned his cheek close to hers, as close as he could without making contact. The heat of their bodies mingled in the space between tiny electric impulses the only thing to break the barrier. "I just don't have the same game in mind," he spat coldly into her ear before shoving her roughly back to the floor. "How dare you? He asked. "How dare you think you could control me again?"

"I..I didn't."

"Really Sarah? And why should I believe you?"

"I..don't..know," she admitted sheepishly.

Jareth brought out his riding crop from somewhere beneath his cape and split the air between them with it, "And that is exactly my problem," he declared. "You never seem to know, what to say, what you're doing, what you've done. I'll come to you, but it will be on my terms, not yours. Never yours again. And the games we play will have stakes higher than some infant child. Keep me in mind," he warned. "Think of me often, otherwise I would have to have this conversation with you again." Jareth walked slowly toward the window, his stare stuck on the mortal on the floor, "And Sarah, I do so hate to repeat myself." He fell out of the window like a top heavy child only to sail through the sky with grace as his wings unfolded. Sarah made it to the fully intact sill in time to see him, an inky shadow against the praline moon.

* * *

"Sarah, shut the window for Christ's sake. The sun's coming up and we've barely had three hours sleep. Pull the blind and come back to bed you maniac."

"Huh?" Sarah looked around. It was only half passed five. She must have been sleep walking, acting out the figments of her imagination that had come to life in subconscious while she was dreaming. "Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry Lane." Closing the window and drawing the blinds, Sarah slipped out to her desk, the one where she kept her copy of the _Labyrinth_. For a long while she only sat and looked at the damned thing. Why had she kept it all these years. 'My will is as strong as yours, my kingdom as great. You have no power over me,' she reminded herself as she flipped the pages.

Surveying the near empty apartment, Sarah closed her eyes and attempted for the first time in some time to summon the king. "I need you Jareth," she said aloud more sincerely than she might have liked. Nothing happened. Slamming the damned book shut, she shoved it back into the drawer and caught her falling head with her now free hands. What Jareth had left in her all those years ago she quested for even now, thirsted for it. That fire he'd left low in her belly, that surge she felt in her nether region, all of which she had foolishly mistaken for fear, had been something else entirely.


	10. Chapter 9

**Please note: **Some musical references and a few racy bits have been removed from this chapter to meet requirements. For a full version, please visit my website. A link appears in my profile. This particular chapter will be available on January 15th.

**CHAPTER NINE**

Laney found her friend slumped over the book the next morning, asleep, her eyes swollen from crying. "Sarah," she called softly, taking the woman into her arms. "Oh Sarah, you weren't really trying to call him were you?" Laney asked when she saw where the book had been opened to.

"He never comes, not when I call. I think he's only interested in the teenage ones," Sarah said hopelessly. "Passed his prime I'm afraid."

"Honey, he's not even real."

"He sure as hell felt real Laney. Everything about that dream felt real. I'm not even sure what's real and what's not anymore, every where I go, everything I see it's like he's here, in my head." Sarah's open palm crashed repeatedly against her skull.

Helpless, Laney only tried to intercept the blows. "Darlin' you need something to calm you down. I think we should call your doctor."

"Why? So he can give me the same pills he gave me when I had my break down after Timmy left? No Laney, no. I'm not fucking crazy and I'm not having another break down. I told you I shouldn't have had anything to do with this damned wedding and that's what the problem is. Rowan and her sisters and her wedding and her fairytale, well now she's got it all and that's my problem Laney. I've given all I am away. I've given Tim my love and Rowan my dreams and there's nothing left." She began sobbing openly. "I've got nothing."

"You've got me kiddo, you've still got me." Laney rocked Sarah in her arms, doing everything she could to console her, but how did you fill up a soul that felt as empty as hers did?

Sarah fell fast asleep in her friends arms, exhausted from all that she'd been through. Laney did the best she could manage to get her comfortably sprawled on the couch. She considered calling Toby, but didn't want to ruin the day after his wedding. There was no one else to call. Tim would have been concerned, he was still friendly toward his ex-wife, but he wouldn't have come to her side, not like she needed someone to. Laney really was all Sarah had left and she was completely useless as to how to help her.

Catching her head with her hands, she fell into the seat at the desk. Surveying the page of the book she found herself compelled to read the well penned script. '_But what no one knew was the king had fallen in love with the girl...'_ She felt ridiculous for even thinking it, but nothing made sense now, not Sarah's behavior, not Rowan's sisters, nothing. So why not believe in this a little. "Well if you did love her," she spat at the pages as if it would have some magical effect, "now would be a good time to show it." Slamming the volume shut she gathered it together with anything else in the drawers she remembered from their younger carefree days. Carefully, she bundled them and set to burying them in the deepest darkest corner of Sarah's most cluttered closet. Then she put together an outfit for her sleeping friend. When she awoke, they would hit Bloomies, Sax, whatever it took and for however long. Retail therapy used to be just the thing to set her straight, but at this rate, they would have to rack up one hell of a tab.

* * *

They'd just left Nordstrom's, Sarah was feeling better with a lovely pair of high black Manolo's tucked under her arm. They were coming up on Sax now, and Laney couldn't resist admiring a fur in the window. "Bit early to be advertising winter wear don't you think?" she asked Sarah, who had likewise taken up an equally strong interest in the fox stole. 

What Sarah didn't mention to her shopping partner, for fear that she would seem just a shade passed crazy was how much that stole with it's tails on the edge reminded her of Sir Didymus. No she kept that to herself. That along with the notion that she had to keep watching on the off chance that it was the bog guard trying to warn her, trying to give her some message. For more than just a long moment she considered buying the thing, just in case the magic didn't work when there were witnesses, but after the show she had given Laney this morning, she thought it best to keep her thoughts to herself.

Impatiently, Laney dragged her inside, now bored with the fur stole. No, there were more exciting things inside, but Sarah didn't share her enthusiasm. What could be more exciting than attempting to decipher some message the universe was sending you via the imaginary friends you thought you'd bury along with your saddle shoes? Despite that feeling, she followed anyway and by the time they'd made their way through belts and handbags, Sarah was already beginning to forget all that craziness from out front. In fact, she'd happened across a nice leather belt with a silver clasp that required Laney's expertise as an engineer to close, but it was stunning and she simply had to have it. It joined the boots, to maximize carrying efficiency thereby extending their trip and allowing for more stops before they called upon the services of a cabbie to get them back home.

On they pressed to Bloomies. Laney seemed hell bent on dying her hair blonde one more time even after Sarah reminded her of the dye debacle of 1996. Laney had the same auburn tresses she sported now and blonde highlights in brown hair had only just become a popular trend. Just fresh out of school, Laney decided on trying one of those home kits, the kind with the tiny plastic tipped paint brush meant to make streaking on the color so simple a four year old child could assist in the process.. What came of the failed experiment was a lovely top layer of chutney, a solid cap of it over her otherwise nut brown hair. Famous for her up dos, Laney was likened to a twist cone until she admitted her defeat and had a professional turn it all polished gold for her.

By sports coats, she was off again, by Hilfiger it was on again and by casual wear she was as undecided as she had been on the way in. They wound up in the salon, watching for a solid hour as heads went in and came out each looking like a set of before and after make over photos. Long hair grew short and short hair was intricately woven until it was long again. Light hair became dark, dark hair became light, greys disappeared. One in particular caught Sarah's attention as she had a tight cap fitted over her long blonde hair. The pattern on the cap reminded her of a sheet of graph paper, or perhaps more like that old connect the dots game she had played with Toby so many times she'd gone half blind. A square divided into equally spaced lines of dots running vertically and horizontally, the object to quarter off and take control of as many four pointed squares as possible until they had all been claimed. And now she watched on as someone was fitted with a template of the same.

The instrument the stylist picked up reminded her of one of those orange handled latch hook tool that came with all those cut pieces of yarn and wound up being a pillow with a unicorn on it that sat on your grandmother's couch until it grew matted and discolored with age. Sadistically, the woman in the black lab coat stabbed that latch hook through that cap, aiming for the marked spots on the cap, pulling through a few strands each time until the woman's head looked like a fountain of sorts, wild pieces of hair lifted and arching from her skull in all directions, wild...feral. She hadn't seen a style like that since, well not since she'd met the Goblin King.

'Grab hold of yourself,' Sarah thought trying to pull back the look of shock which had taken over her face. "Laney, you don't want to do this. Look at you, you're gorgeous. Why would you want to leave it up to anyone else as to what may or may not improve that?"

"Oh Sarah," she fluffed her mane in a nearby mirror. "Gorgeous? Would you really say gorgeous?"

"Definitely, now let's get home. I've got to be back at work in the morning."

"I hate Sunday's," Laney whined. "Just when you begin to enjoy the weekend, along come Sundays to ruin all that for you." She fed her arm through Sarah's and led her to the curb. There they hailed a green cab.

The portly driver leaned closer to the window, a fat cigar causing his lower lip to sag. His face was as gruff as the stubble on his chin, "You ladies care if you're in a smoking cab?"

Spending the majority of her free time with Ashton these days, smoking was of no consequence to Sarah. Laney seemed put off but willing to endure his bad habit for the few minutes it would take to arrive back at Sarah's building.

"Where to?" he barked when they got in. Not five minutes into the ride and it had become obvious this was not a man of refined taste in rich Cuban cigars, but rather a thrifty fellow who would smoke just about anything regardless of how foul the odor.

Sarah did her best to breath through her mouth while Laney more overtly cracked her window. Something of her keen attorney senses couldn't resist taking in just one hearty whiff in some vain effort to place the smell. It was there, just beneath her short term memory, she had smelled that dreadful smell once before, but she couldn't put her finger on quite where, that is not until she closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall back against the cool leather of the cab seats. She breathed in methodically, the way one focused on a pleasant scent, wanting it to linger. Then finally she placed the obnoxious odor. The steam that rose from the Bog of Eternal Stench, it had the same stinging scent, the same pungent odor that offended more than just the olfactory nerves for certain. Immediately Sarah cracked her window as well, only more to lower the temperature that was suddenly rising on her side of the back seat.

* * *

Despite the new leggings she'd found that she thought might look perfect with a black leather skirt for her upcoming weekend with Ashton and the Manolos that only a severe depression could convince her to spend $1200 on, Monday arrived right on schedule. Sliding out from between the warm sheets, Sarah reluctantly set her bare feet onto the cool carpet. Everything in her wanted to turn around and crawl back into bed, but she had only another eight days to prepare for the Chelli trial she had promised Trish she would take on. Her own emotions had no time to be considered now. 

To the closet to select a suit and matching shoes and then the shower which she hoped would refresh her, but it seemed no matter how much she increased the hot water it never got hot enough. When she emerged, her skin crimson, she felt no more clean than she had before the shower. It was as if the events of the weekend had been sprayed over her like a rich oil, forcing the water to float above it and never actually touch her skin. Still, no time for feeling perfect. After all, her unsettled memories convinced her that she had managed to thoroughly muck up her personal life, at least she stood a chance of saving someone else's, that was to say if she could keep her wandering mind from obsessing over thoughts of Jareth and Tim.

As she sat on the edge of her squarely made bed jerking silk stockings over her freshly shaven legs Sarah took notice of the rough ash tray Ashton had left behind him. The speckled burnt orange ends of his Marlboro filters snubbed out and forced into tiny fat horseshoes. It was enough to make her question why she was wasting her time consumed by the memory of men who no longer desired her, when he had been only too eager to prove just that when they'd last been together. Sighing, she wished she'd have had the courage to ask him to accompany her to the nuptials, but in retrospect it would have been an even more horrid disaster with him there to observe. Still, it had been several weeks now between his out of town obligations to the engineering firm and her previous commitments since they had been dancing.

Slapping her thighs, she stood straight and began wiggling into a finely pinstriped grey skirt. "Dancing," she said as if she'd discovered the entire meaning of life while wrestling with rubber latches on her garters. "I need to go dancing." At lunch she'd call Ashton. He should have been back if she remembered correctly. He was due in the night before the wedding. Come to think of it, why hadn't he called to find out how things had gone? Surely he knew. It was all she'd been able to talk about for weeks now. Buttoning her blouse, she wrote his lack of communication off, deciding it would have made him entirely too perfect had he remembered to phone.

Now a full fifteen minutes late, Sarah poured her coffee into the silver metallic travel mug and folded her sports coat over her forearm. Briefcase in hand, computer waiting at the office, she headed out. From the lobby of her building she saw torrents of rain giving the city landscape a concrete color, blurring the buildings so much so she had to blink to be sure it wasn't sleep lingering in her eyes. Groaning, she pressed on. One of the guards came running up to her with an umbrella straight from the lost and found. Nodding her thanks, she exited through the revolving the door.

Normally a morning downpour wouldn't have affected Sarah, but she was already grey enough inside. She crossed the street and headed for the redline. Might as well stay dry. Signs pointed left and right to aid the novices in choosing their correct destination, but Sarah had walked to most of her inner city destinations for as long as she could remember and having to read the signs made her feel like a foreigner. All about her people hurried sure of their path, confident as they took the stairs and found their platforms. Squinting for no reason, she read the signs. Boarding, Exit Here, To the Loop, Underground, the Park...UNDERGROUND. Perhaps some of those sharp slanting drops had stung her eyes Sarah prayed as she wiped at them, only to find them dry. When she glanced again, there was no mention of the Underground.

"Right," she said quietly aloud, "because if a certain Goblin King had decided to make his kingdom accessible to the general public, he'd have done so by putting a stop on the redline."

"Oh no, it's too late for you now." Sarah switched her head in the direction of the offending interjection. "If I might." The gentlemen extending his arm to her looked familiar enough. His name was elusive. Had he been another one of her dreams? Mechanically, she took his arm. He smiled down at her warmly. "Not singing and dancing to work in the rain today?" he asked. Sarah shook her head. "It's too bad, I was hoping I'd get to retrieve your wrap once more."

With that it became obvious. This man was the same good Samaritan she'd mortified herself in front of what seemed like a lifetime ago. "You couldn't possibly remember me," Sarah stammered.

The gentlemen smiled giving her the opportunity to observe how well his teeth aligned. His mouth was perfect, upper lip half the thickness of his full lower lip and both tandem, curled into a confident smirk. She wanted to slap him, but held back. Other women would have found him sensational. They'd have seduced him with their blatant promiscuity until he was accompanying them home rather than to their job. In fact a more shameless woman interested in a charming man with tightly curled hair that just skimmed the collar of his harlequin imprinted dress shirt would have called into the office exaggerating a saccharin cough so that she could take him back to her apartment and praise the lazy way he left that shirt untucked as they slipped off his striped jacket. They might have even been so dubious as to send him on made up errands in some paltry effort to catch a glimpse of his backside in what seemed to her to be jeans that had been custom tailored.

Charming only got a man so far with Sarah Williams and as he leaned into her vowing, "My lady, I couldn't possibly forget you," she was even more certain he was not her type. "Forgive me if I sound like a madman," he began. Immediately Sarah knew what came next would not please her, but his lulling English accent kept her from ignoring him. "I've noticed you everyday since our fateful meeting and each day it grows more difficult for me to deny that in my eyes, you are the most exquisite woman I have ever seen."

"Forgive me if I sound rude," Sarah countered, "but I'm currently involved with someone."

His face contorted with disappointment and rejection. "I see," he said regally, restoring that GQ smile beneath his well shaped, precisely centered, button nose. "Any man would be lucky to win you. If you please, when next you see this someone of yours, remind him to cherish you, my love, for I'm certain as I'm standing here with you that there are no lack of ready takers willing to fill his shoes." The train arrived just then and he guided her tenderly aboard. When his lips pressed against the back of her hand she was sure his mouth had been as perfect as she first suspected. "Were it ever that he was to prove himself a scoundrel, I hope you will think of me. And until then," his eyes met hers fully, deeply, "I shall, as I have always, think of you."

Inside the train, Sarah couldn't resist looking back to where he stood, mesmerized at his manner. Her jaw hung as he dipped low, a perfect swing of his arm accentuating his bow just before his long fingers flagged in the window, waving goodbye.

* * *

"He said what?" Laney asked for the third time since receiving her friend's call. 

"I know. I mean where do they pick that stuff up?" Sarah asked.

Laughing, her date from the day before reminded her that it was the Queen's English these men she kept finding herself with spoke, "It's far more proper than our modified American tends to be."

"Proper has nothing to do with it, it's creepy."

"So some handsome man with a, what did you call it, perfect mouth," Laney paused, "has a thing for you, but you're too busy shagging the international bad boy. Jesus Sarah, I'd feel bad for you, but you dream up gorgeous men, you were married to a gorgeous man, you raised a gorgeous brother, you've got a good looking one in the sack and a bit willing to stand in line for you and I haven't had so much as a date, with the exception of you in months. This particular _problem_ of yours is one I'd pay to have."

"No need, I'd gladly give it to you." When Laney didn't respond, Sarah added, "Are you saying I wasn't a good date? I mean, I didn't cost you a penny, I got _myself _drunk and you ended up in bed with me that night! What more did you want?"

"Pencil in some chest hair and strap on something gurthy and we'll talk."

"You sick bitch."

Laney laughed heartily, "Takes one to know one."

"And I gather from your comment that no one has taken you in quite some time."

"Touche," Laney admitted, knowing she'd been bested.

Sarah laughed feeling lighthearted for the first time that day. Why hadn't she just told Laney everything? Told her about the dream she had, the stole, the highlights, the sign on the train. It might have made her feel better the way mention of this mysterious man had, but she didn't. She couldn't. That frightened her.

"Listen lovey," she giggled once more, "you have good security in your building, work and home, I wouldn't sweat some guy whose worst crime is crushing on you. He seems pretty harmless."

"I suppose."

"Not another seconds thought Sarah. Now I've got to go. Call me tonight if you need anything." Before she hung up, she grumbled, "It's not as if I have anything _else_ to do."

"Right thanks."

"No worries. Love you hon."

"Love you too Lane."

Without replacing the receiver, Sarah depressed the recall button and established a fresh line for herself. "Ashton Price," she said sweetly when the receptionist answered.

"Sarah? I'm glad you called. I was beginning to think you were the love 'em and leave 'em kind."

"Normally I am," she chided, "but in your case I think I'll make an exception."

She could hear him drawing on his cigarette, even through the phone, the sound of sucking at the filter causing flashbacks of their evening together to stimulate more than the mind. Air rushed over his lips, carrying smoke in tow as he exhaled, but to Sarah it was foreplay. "Might I assume then that you are indeed free this Saturday and that I may, in fact, take you out then?"

"I'll check my date book, but I believe I'm free." She smiled.

"Good then, hey Sarah," he said anxiously. She could hear other people about volleying for his attention. "Got to run, but I'll call you on Saturday. Bye."

"Bye," she said to what she was certain was nobody. Just like that then, no questions about the wedding, no sweet what nots like lovers exchanged, no nosy questions about the last three weeks and no offering up information about his time out of town. Had it been so long since Sarah had been involved in a committed relationship she'd forgotten that prior to marriage, men especially, were less prone to pouring out every single detail of their time apart from you. Hell in one out of every two cases, they didn't do it after marriage either.

* * *

What she saw in the file told Sarah little more than had she sat down with this woman face to face and asked her for her name, rank and serial number. It was all facts and addresses, numbers and statistics. How would she ever come up with a reasonable defense for someone who seemed more like a paper doll than a living breathing human being? There were no standard defenses for family court hearings. Something always ended up coming out that no one could prepare for. Lies get told all the time, justified as misinterpretation, each side considering their best interests while the best interests of innocent children were cast aside as easily as used tissue. 

Rona Chelli had worked for the same company for eighteen years. Retail sales representative, merit awards for attendance and employee of the month achievements regularly. She'd had three addresses in her entire life and judging by the dates which she had claimed to live at each, she moved out of her parents house at about nineteen to live on her own for a couple of years before marrying David Feucht, a landscaping architect who was nine years her senior. They had a modest home in a good neighborhood, which, according to her statement, Rona had left with Marina almost six months ago.

But it wasn't until she received the court transcripts that she started to paint the picture of exactly what happened to Rona once she traded her married name back in for her maiden one and moved herself and her daughter into a small flat in the north side of the city, not so far from Lincoln Park. Mr. Feucht was ordered to pay reasonable child care and spousal support to Ms. Chelli and custody of their 14 month old daughter was awarded to Ms. Chelli, with Mr. Feucht permitted visitation every other weekend, from 5:30 Friday evening until 8:00 Sunday evening. Later pleadings would show that Ms. Chelli, would agree to Mr. Feucht keeping their daughter Sunday evenings provided he a) gave her sufficient notice so that she could provide any additional supplies for the extended stay; and b) the child be dropped off by Mr. Feucht at her established place of day care, an accredited facility four blocks south of the store where Ms. Chelli was employed.

So far everything between the couple seemed more amicable than any divorce Sarah had ever been privy to. Four months later Ms. Chelli received a raise at work. Mr. Feucht took her to court to have spousal support reduced and was granted a $37.00 a month deduction. The entire judgment probably cost him $1500 in legal fees and filing costs, but he obviously wanted to get his ex-wife's goad some. Two weeks later, Ms. Chelli was back in court protesting Mr. Feucht's now live-in girlfriend as an unsuitable influence for her daughter. Court ordered several weeks of supervised visitation to ensure that this new woman in Mr. Feucht's life would not be a detriment to the child. Ms. Chelli's motion was denied.

It seemed Mr. Feucht later married his girlfriend and not long thereafter the court was notified that Marina Feucht had been taken by her father at 5:17 pm on a night of their regularly scheduled visitation. The following Monday when Ms. Chelli arrived at her daughter's registered day care center, Marina had not been checked in. The girl assigned to the infant room was panic stricken as she explained that a woman had phoned in claiming to Ms. Chelli and said that she was ill and would be keeping Marina home with her for the day rather than take a chance at infected the other infants in the facility. Ms. Chelli then called her ex-husband, as shown by cellular phone records, and was unable to reach him at home or on his cell. She attempted to call several of his employees who she had numbers for from having done the administrative end of his business activities for so long. None of them had seen him that day. A police report was made and twelve days later, the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Feucht were found in Niagra Falls, Canada where they claimed to be honeymooning with their daughter as part of the two week vacation period allotted him by Ms. Chelli.

In court, Ms. Chelli denied receiving his request for permission to take their infant daughter for the specified period and stated under oath that she believed her baby had been kidnaped. Now it seemed like a more typical divorce hearing. Name calling and character aspersions flying like bullets in the cross hairs, more mud slinging than even the greatest political campaign and no further mention of the child, Marina Feucht, but rather slanderous upon slanderous mention of Ms. Rona Chelli and Mr. David Feucht.

Ms. Chelli is unfit, unkempt and sends Mr. Feucht's daughter to his home for visitation with an inadequate number of diapers and clothing insufficient for her stay.

Mr. Feucht is continually late to pick up the child and ritually requests additional time with her which he then uses to remove Ms. Chelli's daughter from the country without her permission.

Ms. Chelli is mentally unstable, a condition made worse by her abuse of alcohol and prescription pain medications, and which causes her to have lapses of memory, including consenting to Mr. Feucht's removal of his daughter from Ms. Chelli's residence for a period of two weeks during which Mr. Feucht, his current wife and his daughter were to stay at a resort in Canada in celebration of his nuptials.

Mr. Feucht's controlling and dominating behavior began during their marriage and continues, often seeping into his relationships with Ms. Chelli's daughter in such a way that she must now question if he should receive any rights to visitation of the child at all.

Ms. Chelli's claims are unfounded and rooted in spite and jealousy for the new Mrs. Feucht.

Mr. Feucht has on more than one occasion returned Ms. Chelli's child with cuts, abrasions and bruises indicative of abuse at the hands of her father and/or step mother.

Perhaps it would be a good idea if she were to pay Ms. Chelli a visit.

* * *

Sarah looked around more carefully as she left for work the next couple of days. She left her MP3 player on the stand next to the mirror in the hallway that led to her front door when she picked up her briefcase in the morning. From day to day, the path which led her to the main entrance of her building varied by a turn or two and the red line remained off limits in whatever whether condition the Michigan lake front welcomed into the city. Her last encounter with the good Samaritan had reminded her how lax she had grown, how complacent. 

What had become of her lately? Drinking more in a week than she had for the entire previous month. Eyes, ears, subconscious, all in line to play tricks on her. Nothing a few days sleep couldn't cure, but lately she hadn't been able to get more than a couple of hours. Now this nonsense to plague her. Spending an extra five minutes getting to work every morning for fear some madman was lurking in the shadows watching every step she took. Saturday seemed much longer than three days off.

Even a keen eye could be easily distracted, and Sarah's emerald orbs were no less prone to distraction than any other. In fact, the thought of donning her newest acquisition, a firm poly cotton business coat duster over a short pinstripe skirt for her date with Ashton was enough to keep her from noticing the way she was being watched from the corner of the Architecture Foundation just outside of Grant Park. On a separate occasion, she was quite easily observed from behind the Chicago Board of Trade whilst a list of needed groceries wandered about in her head. Nearly as easily as it had been for him to spy her as she shuffled passed the Harold Washington Library muttering about the broken heel on her Mephisto chocolate brown pumps. Once, when she was milling about at the Stock Exchange she felt his glance, but try as she might, Sarah didn't see him behind the stone pillar.

He looked over her, head to toe. Curious for the style of hair, the color of her shoes, the cut of her suit, anything he could observe, and all the with every morning walk which proved he had the skill of a stalker, his heart stayed true. This good Samaritan wished her no harm, thought not once of hurting her, rather he dreamt of her cool skin against his in the night. He wanted to pull her swiftly into his grasp and dance with her to the ballad the angels sung whenever he saw her. She was all that was beauty, all that was grace, Aphrodite in Armani. And she did not even know that he existed.

To Sarah this man had been almost inconsequential, but for his cerulean eyes and his perfectly formed mouth, attributes she had noticed in the face of almost every man she'd ever met. The profound impact she had upon him, Sarah may have never guessed. Wraps fell all the time, men retrieved them, woman sometimes took chivalry into their own hands, small children ran good deeds, other times they were lost forever, left to the wind, dark corners of isolated places, the seats of buses, coatrooms at restaurants, unchecked closets in swanky hotel rooms. She wondered now what it was about that moment, that insignificant exchange that made him quest for her the way he did. Now she was just a fox, a fox in the wood fleeing his hunter, fearing capture or worse.

In truth, a part of her loved it, being in a man's sights like this was what she wanted. Maybe that's why her eye's refused to see what the back of her head felt as she made her way to work each morning. Being watched was nothing new to Sarah, she had been watched before, by a more sophisticated spy. Not since then had she been the pawn in such an exhilarating game of cat and mouse, but she wouldn't have admitted that, not to anyone, not even to herself.

* * *

"Tavern on the Rush," she repeated, "tonight." 

"I'd rather not discuss such things in front of my child."

"Tomorrow then, after her father picks her up."

"I'm afraid he's been denied visitation until the courts rule on the kidnaping charges."

"How can I make this convenient for you Ms. Chelli?"

"For one, you can find me a sitter, someone I can trust, someone I don't have to pay. Then send a car for me, otherwise I'd have to take the bus and that's not safe, not for a woman, alone, late at night. I assume you plan on picking up the tab for this dinner you want to have, because quite frankly Ms. Williams, Tavern on the Rush isn't an establishment I frequent."

Rona Chelli was no slouch. She played poor, helpless, single mother well and constantly without wavering. "Naturally, consider it a perk of doing business with Sidley."

"What time should I expect someone?"

"Sitter at 6:00, car at 6:30, I'll meet you at the restaurant at 7:00. If anything happens we don't expect, the reservation will beunder my name."

"A reliable sitter?" Rona asked once more.

Sarah smiled, "Only the best."

* * *

"Normally I wouldn't ask, but you're the only person I could think of and...well...I'm screwed if you bail." 

"Screwed huh?"

"Completely!"

"6:00 till when?"

"9:30 at the absolute latest, I swear."

"You're so damn lucky to have a friend like me, you know that right?"

"I'm going to have it tattooed backwards on my ass so that every time I walk naked passed a mirror I'm reminded." Sarah sighed, happy that Laney had agreed to her last minute plan to free up Rona Chelli's evening by having her best friend sit Marina Feucht. "Thank you."

"Some day I will ask you for a favor," Laney said in a deep, hoarse voice.

Chuckling Sarah admitted, "Way I figure it, I'll be lucky if you only ask for one."

"Mind if I ask what's up with this one?"

"Now Laney, you know the attorney client privilege prevents me from telling you anything about cases."

"Yeah," she replied and then paused, "Of course Sarah, you realize that the best friend clause which damn near forces me to comply with your request to sit the infant child of some woman I've never met is also the same clause which overrides any privilege said stranger has."

"Valid argument," Sarah agreed before spilling the basics of the case to Laney. "Basically, I think she's trying to pin this abuse charge on the ex to keep him from running off with the kid again."

Laney sighed, "Can't say as I blame her much."

"What?" Sarah was somewhat shocked by her friend's admission.

"Sar, seriously, if it was Tim and he'd run off with Toby."

"If Toby were Marina's age, I probably would have welcomed it."

Silence.

Finally, Sarah pleaded, "Please don't ask me to imagine how I'd react to something that may have happened to an infant I have never given birth to."

"I'm sorry Sarah. Are you sure taking this case was a good idea."

"It's part of my obligation Laney, I don't get a choice. When a case comes in, I handle it. Much like life."

Laney felt horrible. "I didn't mean to bring up feelings that you had in check, hon."

"Then drop the topic."

"Dropped." For the first time since she had nursed Sarah through her divorce, the perky brunette was speechless. "I'll be there. Friday at 6:00, just like you asked." Another silence, "And Sarah," her voice cracked, "I'm here for you too, whenever you need me."

"Yeah, thanks. So not to seem rude, but I've got to figure out how to make a deposition feel more like dinner out with an old friend."

"No, no problem. Maybe Saturday we could..."

Sarah interrupted quickly, "I have plans with Ashton Saturday."

"Ashton, there's a name I haven't heard in awhile."

"Yeah, well he's been out of town and I've been working on the wedding, so this was our first chance to really get together. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah, I understand. Well you have a nice time. Maybe we'll try to meet for lunch next week, if you're not busy."

"I'll have Nettie give you a call."

"Nettie!" Laney composed herself quickly. "I'll wait to hear from her."

"Thanks again for covering me Laney."

"Sure thing Sar. It's what friends do right?"

"I knew I was calling the right person." Sarah said cheerfully. "G'night."

"G'night," Laney replied wondering if she was still the right person. Was she still Sarah's friend? In her heart, she didn't need to ask the question, but the mind she'd thought she'd learned to read so well, was now beyond her scope of reason. It would have been easy to blame it all on Ashton, or the wedding, or any inverse proportion of them both, but Laney and Sarah hadn't just met at last month's meeting of the Jane Austen book club. She had seen Sarah through depression, seen her through obsessions and yet had never seen her like this, which put her at a serious disadvantage for lending a hand. Never had she felt more helpless than she did right now.

* * *

"I assume you photographed the marks that your ex-husband made on your daughter," Sarah asked casually tossing back what merlot was left in her glass. 

Cheeks already filled, Rona tucked in another bite of salad before glancing at her attorney with suspicion. "Ain't got a camera."

Attempting to hide her shock, she refilled her glass, "But for something like this, don't you think it would be wise to have photos?"

"I can't say I have much to do with something like this ma'am. I may not be very high brow, but I promise you, I wasn't beaten as a child and I ain't never beat my own. I ain't a drunk," she declared making a blatant emphasis as Sarah enjoyed her second glass of wine. "I may be poor, but I ain't trash."

"I didn't mean to imply."

"Sure, listen, I filed all my papers with the court, I said everything I had to say to the woman from legal aid, why'd you bring me here?"

"Ms. Chelli, I want to represent you against your ex-husband and I want the outcome to match that which is in the best interests of your daughter, but in order to do so, I must insist you be honest with me."

Roughly stabbing at her salad, Rona repeated the tale the records told, precisely at that. It was either the truth or the most finely rehearsed performance Sarah had ever seen. "And since his visitations have been supervised, have there been bruises?"

"Of course not!"

"Do you think your husband a man of extreme self control?"

Rona quickly corrected "Ex-husband."

"Ex-husband."

"He ain't stupid if that's what you're asking."

"Not at all. In situations such as these, the violence is often result of uncontrolled anger. I wonder if he were to lose his temper, would he be able to hold his back even supervised."

"Like I said, he ain't stupid." Steaks were placed before each of them sharing their platters with steaming backed yams, topped in brown sugar, cinnamon and butter. "He wants her. I don't know why. He wasn't happy about the news that I was pregnant and he didn't do a damned thing to help out while I carried her. Shit, the day I had her he was too busy dolling out quotes to clients to come to the hospital."

"And once she came?"

"Things didn't change. He took her when he was told."

Sarah sighed, "But he would keep her longer, keep her until Monday mornings?"

Huffing Rona replied, "He only did that so he wouldn't have to see me any more than necessary."

"Has your _ex_-husband ever hit you Ms. Chelli?"

Staring at her blankly, the woman let her cutlery fall to her plate. "No," she answered definitively. "Make your point."

"I'm attempting to establish a pattern of behavior."

From her lap she folded her napkin, tucking it under her platter. A wave of her finger brought the waiter close by and she requested the colloquial 'doggie bag'. "It all started when he met the bitch he's with now. She's to blame. Now, if you don't mind. I would like to get home to my daughter."

"Ms. Chelli," Sarah leaned across the table, her eyes sincere, "are you still in love with your ex-husband?"

"If I were, Ms. Williams," and here she rose, refusing to meet Sarah's eyes, "he wouldn't be my ex." That said, Rona Chelli stormed out leaving Sarah with no more a grasp on the case at hand, than her paper files had given her. The only joy in it was that her portion of wine was now doubled.

She couldn't remember the last time she had dined at the Tavern, but rather spent the majority of her time in the establishment reigned at the bar entertaining clients with gimlet after gimlet and the like. No wait, mayhaps she could. Her last anniversary was spent in the same restaurant. She and Timothy, and Toby. Prime rib that night, no more intimate conversation than she had had with Ms. Chelli. Her joy in being left in peace faded rapidly at the recollection. With a good half glass of merlot fermenting at the bottom of the tinted bottle, Sarah left, bent on walking cross town in the crisp night air. The encounter from the other day left her with a great distaste for the train and cabs were a thing for certain she had never been fond of.

State street was busy with taxis, each filled almost immediately upon being emptied which only strengthened her desire to walk. Turning left when she reached Superior, Sarah felt at ease with the cool air like a compress against her head. In fact it was all a bit too comfortable mostly because it was the first walk she had taken in months when it did not feel as though eyes were upon her. Quite the contrary, she seemed rather unnoticed by everyone she passed.

Rush Street lie before her, one block more and she'd be on Michigan which would, in turn lead her home. On the corner where Superior and Rush met was a tiny, modest building, contemporary, but for an ambiguous stone statue in the front. A sign politely informed her that what captured her eye was an Episcopal Church Center. It was most unchurchly and looked more like a community center if anything, but Sarah overlooked that. Drawn without thought to the statue there, so much so, she walked brazenly on the grass straight up to the four foot elevated carving.

Delicate, yet muscular, the legs folded into perpendicular obtuse angles as though the creature had been turned to stone in the middle of a fine artistic dance. The stalk of the body was lean and uncommonly straight, where as the arms dipped gracefully before the posture - perfect torso. An angel she decided when she dared to make her way to its honest face, twisted with compassion and empathy, a gentleness only another worldly creature could bestow. Though the wings deceived her judgment, narrow, tiered, like a butterfly more than the angels she'd learned about in bible study in her prepubescent days. Where had she seen such a creature before? So man and yet so mythical. Tender and yet merciless when need be.

Ground lights ignited nearly simultaneously with Sarah's unconscious stretch to touch that pleasant face. Surely it was a trick of the light on her eyes which made that simple grin sneer back and lunge toward her fingertips. Surely, she laughed as her right hand sheltered the left which had been quickly drawn back. With backward stride she went on to Michigan Avenue, rolling her head in all angles in an effort to replay that very trick of lights. It seemed as though she were doomed to regret everything about this evening.

* * *

Something about the way her hair pulled back so tightly it made the corners of her eyes go smooth made Ashton's pants mimic with fullness. She'd put together something very professional looking. A business length skirt which when coupled with Sarah's stretching legs hoisted higher by the new black boots she'd bought diminished to not much more than a very wide belt. Were it not for the fine grey pinstripe he'd have mistaken the pairing of it with a form fitting black camisole to be a one piece dress. Wrapping her up was a long hard cotton duster jacket. 

At the back of her head a neatly wound bun held together by a single black stick accented with rhinestones. Shorter hairs hung off her neck, mostly loosened by the way Ashton cupped her head with his hands. Several times while they danced, he'd felt satin gloves brush his neck and were she to have asked him what was on his mind, he would have gladly admitted to wanting that same sensation replicated from where she'd begun it straight to his toes. Shy was not one of his characteristic, not by a long shot.

They'd been enjoying an excellent mix at Neo. Everyone was dancing and all the best regulars were there. Sarah had nicely worn a spot on the dance floor and consumed her fair share of Bacardi and coke in the process. The dress of those in attendance was ornate, more so than usual this night and a particular look had captured her attentions. He sat against the wall, not so much at a table as between them, cooly, sort of thrown there. Long, well defined legs dwarfing the pedestals beneath him. A full head of blond hair made wild by his dancing.

For one brief moment from across the dance floor where Sarah was almost comatose from the rhythm of a Combichrist song, their eyes met. A crooked smirk told her he was carefully watching her and though she did her best to not seem unnerved by his attentions, he had startled her. Not the look itself. She'd grown used to being eyed at the club, especially with Ashton for a partner, but by him. In that one quick instant, the feral blond hair, the sleek sinewy body lounging there as if the building had been built around him. Her mind was playing tricks on her, conspiring with the rum no doubt.

Segueing into one of her favorite songs Sarah backed Ashton towards their table mouthing the words of the throaty singer She pressed him down on to the bench style seats and began swiveling her hips while she undid the buttons on her coat. Slipping it off, Sarah dropped it in his lap. Her gloves went up to her elbows and more than just Ashton watched as she reached behind her head and withdrew the stick which held back the raven head of hair which had grown quite a bit since spring.

It may as well have been a shampoo commercial the way she shook the restrained tresses loose. Roughly she slammed the thing against the table and perched one leg at a ninety degree angle next to Ashton's head letting the song do the begging as she leaned into him. The singer's voice like liquid sex in her head.

Theirs was the interaction that everyone stopped to watch, the regularly repeated live sex show sans the nudity and the close ups on the awkward penetrations. But while Ashton sat enjoying the feel of the parts of her which brushed against him as much as he enjoyed the looming anticipation of all the parts of her which hovered only a breath away, for now, Sarah's eyes were stuck on the man over his right shoulder. The one who until now she had only caught glimpse of from across the room.

Stranger's eyes have a way of feeling especially hard when they fall upon you, but his were heavier than most. Judgmental, curious, provocative. She'd felt eyes on her like that before. She knew what was behind them, the thoughts of purification by the least pure means possible. Though that kind of suggestion had historically come with a cavalier lean and some intimidating inquiry meant to throw her off, meant to make her stammer. No, he sat there smug, letting her do all the work for him. Letting her degrade herself inside her own mind, letting her form all the chastising condemnations that summed up why it was he wanted her and warranted her at the same time. She'd been too young once, but now, she was older, braver. Sarah would take control of this moment, call his bluff, force his hand.

Stepping back one segment, she stood between the stranger and Ashton, her body still gyrating in time with the beat that filled the room around her. Pivoting like a doll in the window of a music box shop, she put her back to Ashton. Feet shoulder width apart, she spun her hips, catching them with her satin gloves and following the line of her thighs, down to the backs of her knees, over the top curve of her calves until she met the tops of her slick leather boots. The whole time intent on the man no one seemed to know. He wasn't with anyone. She hadn't seen anyone speaking to him. Her lips, parted, sangria red, mouthed the last line to him.

As she returned to a more vertical presentation, he stood to greet her. Their bodies almost nose to nose. The stranger captured her small waist in his lanky right arm. Surgical precision brought the cool tip of his index and ring fingers across the hot wet strip of skin bared when the camisole came free of the waistband of her skirt. As though the ice from someone's drink had burned her skin, Sarah shook.

Effortlessly he had rotated her in his arms. "Come," he said with a slow draw as his left hand took hers, "let me help you down." With the manners of a well groomed socialite, he eased her to the floor and left her nonchalantly, as if she had no effect on him at all.

Crushed, she fell back against the table where she and Ashton had placed their things. The man who'd only moments ago seemed smitten with her was now on his way to the bar without so much as a care for what she was doing. Picking up the stick, Sarah considered hoisting her now soaked hair back into a bun, but quickly found it fruitless. Instead she turned it over and over in her fingertips, pressing it against the table and dragging her fingers down the length of it.

Ashton, sat equally disinterested, a lit cigarette between his lips as he watched the other dancers. When he finally asked Sarah if she was ready to leave, they'd hail a cab. In the back seat, his stopped up ears would prevent him from realizing just how loudly he whispered in her ear when he asked for permission to make love to her again. But even his brief moment of tastelessness wouldn't keep her from denying herself him and vice versa. For now though, she waited, impatiently, drumming that black rod off his cigarette pack, wondering why several of his business cards were slid in the cellophane that surrounded the red and white box and curious about the white italics lettering which she was convinced formed words in some foreign language on the back of an evergreen matchbook.

* * *

In the elevator, as they inched slowly toward her penthouse apartment, Sarah wondered when it was she'd grown accustomed to these obscene hours of the morning again. A quick glimpse of the back seamed hose covering the mile of exposed leg between her boots and her skirt hem suddenly made her chuckle. She caught her falling head with her gloved hand and let out a quick laugh stolen from the throat of a madwoman. 

To her side rushed Ashton. Savoring the salt of her skin, he pressed his lips to her neck. "You okay, Sarah?"

"Something about coming home," she admitted, being more open with him than her good sense told her to be. "I'm suddenly reminded of what I am Monday through Friday and I feel like a disobedient child whose parents have gone out of town."

"Sounds like a good role play," he said softly into her ear, but she didn't smile. She didn't coo into him. In fact, she seemed more put off than anything. Cupping her small face in his wide span of piano fingers, he looked into her eyes and asked sincerely, "Is there something so wrong with occasionally feeling like a disobedient child?"

"It's just not something I do."

"Ah, but love, you do. And you do it rather well. In fact, I'm a bit surprised you seem to be so bothered by it. You're magic on that dance floor, absolute magic and if you're not having a good time, well I'm not trying to guess what's in your head, but you sure appear to be having a good time."

The buzz of impatient mechanical doors, broke their contact as Sarah stepped into the hall. She forced her voice lower knowing that her ears had been effected in the club too. "It's not that I'm not having a good time. It's just that, oh God," she set her hand to her temple hiding her eyes. "Without bringing up ever insane detail of my sad and short childhood Ashton, suffice it to say that reverting is not something I wish very much to do."

"Who said anything about reverting? So you let your inner child out for a few hours every weekend, we're all guilty of that. What's to feel bad about?" He held open her apartment door for her and then closed it gently behind him, throwing the deadbolt, "That is to say unless your inner child has been grounded." The chuckle that followed his off the cuff comment told Sarah he was trying to be engaging, lighten her mood. If only he'd known how accurate he truly was.

Stripping off her jacket for the second time that night, she hung it in the closet. It reeked of that thick fog which often filled concert halls and night clubs. It smelled sweet when you first encountered it, like the powder off crushed candies at the bottom of a trick or treat bag after a long Halloween night, but after a full night submersed in the shit, be it the quantity of smoke or the number of hours spent in it, that sweet, immediately identifiable scent became harsh and repulsive. She'd take it to the dry cleaners on Monday.

At the credenza, she set down her bag, peeled off those gloves and lie them over the bag, catching one on the rhinestone setting of her hair piece. She shrugged at the snag and then bent to undo her boots. In the mirror a stranger peered back at her. Big dark eyes, painted black, stained lips all smeared by sweat. Her hair was torn between matting against her forehead and imitating Don King.

Two glasses of white wine in his hand, Ashton approached her. She felt his touch before she noticed his reflection behind her and jumped. "Easy love, have another drink." Once she accepted the glass, his lips went to work on her now exposed arms. For personal reasons Sarah didn't ask about he always seemed more attracted to her when they'd just gotten home from dancing. Still free from any sort of reaction, Ashton stopped abruptly. "You sure you're alright."

"Look at me," she said disenchanted by her ragged appearance. "I'm a mess. How on earth could you possible be attracted to me in this state?"

"You would be hard pressed to find a state in which I didn't find myself attracted to you. But," he took back her wine, "I am a patient man and if you wish to have a shower, by all means, I'll wait."

Sarah was embarrassed now, embarrassed that she had let her foolish notions attempt to ruin the chemistry which faithfully appeared each time they were together. Kissing him softly on the cheek, she headed for the bathroom. "Ten minutes," she promised. "Give me just ten minutes."

"Anything over twelve minutes and I shall be forced to phone the coast guard."

Purposefully, Sarah let her hand fall to his chest, dragging it across him as she walked away.

* * *

While she let the water warm, Sarah swabbed at the charcoal on her eyes. Half a dozen cotton balls met a grave end, plummeting to the waste basket after being made to look like participants in the Exxon Valdez disaster. Her bare face frightened her. Crows fee were beginning to show her age. She hated those enlarged pores that seemed like land mines over the bridge of her nose and no amount of moisturize seemed to prevent the dry patches in her cheeks and chin. Curse the stiff Chicago winds for chapping the way it did. Still, it impressed her some that at her age she could dance in the boots she'd only moments ago stepped out of and not feel as if her legs had been sliced open and the muscles removed. No, Sarah knew she was still in pretty good shape. Bless the fact that the city leant itself to being walked through. 

A quick shampoo removed the last of the fog smell collected in her hair while a perfumed body wash would take care of what had seeped into her skin. Sarah sighed. She was feeling better already, and she still had another two and half minutes for letting the fiery liquid relax her before she was to face Ashton again. What was she thinking breaking down in front of him that way? Hiding her pain was an art Sarah had perfected long ago, but he made her weak, in so many ways.

Eyes closed, she rested against the far wall of her shower, the contrast of cool tiles rejuvenating her. She thought about the night at the club, the stranger she had danced for, the feel of his fingers on her back. That simple gesture had done much to arouse her. The memory of it had done no less. Lost in reverie, she almost hadn't noticed the door open, almost hadn't noticed Ashton step in before her, almost mistaken his touch for that of a man she had never met, would probably never see again.

He kissed her once before lathering himself up. The tiny gaps between their lips, let water fill Sarah's mouth. It spilled out again as his tongue dove for her throat and her jaws reciprocated his deepening kiss. When she at last opened her eyes, she was in awe of his physique. Though they had been together before, the room had been more dimly lit and some sense of humility kept her from really gawking at him the way she wanted to.

Like a magnet her hands found his chest, the suds making the small circles easier to draw over him. It felt good to her to touch a man again, not just physically, but mentally. The sheer normalcy of it was stunning. While the water washed the tiny Irish Spring bubbles from his alabaster skin, it washed all the mistaken visions from Sarah's mind and she wished them both happily down the drain. Clutching to him as if she feared being dragged down too, her appreciative touch only made him more amorous.

The water was like ice by the time they had finished with one another, but the fire of their skin and the blessed heat lamp had prevented them from noticing. Ashton wrapped Sarah's limp body in a towel and with what Sarah admired as an endless supply of strength, hoisted her into his arms and carried her to her bed. Even gone flaccid, she found him pleasant to look upon. Ashton held his body with confidence, the beads of water on his skin like drops of dew on the morning grass and only then did Sarah realize the first rays of morning sun were coming through the window turning him a toasted gold.

"Where did you come from?" she asked him, propped on one elbow, holding her towel to her bosom.

"Sussex," he said falling beside her and tucking her falling hair behind her ear. Sarah batted at his naked chest only to have him respond by pressing her back against her neatly made bed and covering her in tiny appreciative kisses.

* * *

Having failed to do any serious shopping of late, when they awoke from their nap, Sarah wowed Ashton with her famous recipe for Rice Chex, just add milk, complete with fresh perked coffee. "A culinary treat," he said feeding into the gourmet edge she was trying to put on things. "I don't think I have ever enjoyed such perfectly toasted bits of grain, and this milk, is it homogenized, because it tastes distinctly homogenized." 

"Not just homogenized," she confirmed, narrowing her eyes at him over her coffee mug, "but pasteurized as well."

Ashton laughed hard, "You spoil me."

"Least I could do." He leaned over to kiss her. "Too bad you have plans today," Sarah sighed when he backed away. "Maybe next weekend, if you're free, we could do all this again." Her finger made a circular motion on the table top.

"Sorry kitten," Ashton gathered up the dishes and rinsed them in the sink. "I've got business out of town next weekend." Glancing over his shoulder he saw her shoulders slump with disappointment. "Hey now, what would you say to us having dinner when I get back? Monday night? I know this great little Italian place."

'That must be where that matchbook was from.' Sarah thought.

Taking her by the shoulders, Ashton kissed her forehead, "Say you'll meet me."

With a broad smile Sarah agreed, "Monday night."

"Fab! I can't wait." Hoisting her into his arms, Ashton carried her like a pendulum to the door, her toes brushing his knees. A quick glance at his watch and he was apologizing for having to leave.

Sarah kissed him one last time. He looked at her, as if he had something more to say and Sarah caught herself leaning one shoulder to the wall to keep from being knocked over by the flutter in her chest. She was nearly positive he was about to tell her he loved her. Almost certain she was about to hear something she had only ever remembered Tim saying to her. 'Fight it back Sarah,' she told herself. 'You will not allow the past to haunt you anymore. Don't ruin this.' At the base of her hairline, she could feel moisture gather and though she had just had more of a breakfast than she had since signing up to work at Sidley her head felt light and her stomach queasy.

Making a tsk-ing sound with his tongue, he pinched Sarah's jaw between his pointer and his forefinger, his thumb stroking her like a feather in the wind. "I..." he sighed.

'Jesus Christ this is it,' Sarah swallowed hard.

"Can't believe how beautiful you are." Lifting her chin he kissed her tenderly before he opened the door. From the threshold he blew her one last kiss.

Falling back into the couch, Sarah growled at her subconscious. "What the hell was I thinking? A few dates, a couple of unbelievable lays and you think this guy's ready to announce his undying love for you. Are you an asshole or what?" Leaning forward she plucked a Bowling for Soup CD off the coffee table. _A Hangover You Don't Deserve_, this could easily become her Sunday morning theme music. Ashton had turned her on to them after their last date. "Speaking of which," Sarah said as she ran her finger along the song list on the back certain a song of by the same name was on there. "A-ha!" she shouted victoriously at the disc in her hand.

Something about Ashton forced a smile on her lips. Just thinking of him. Listening to his music. Peeling back the cellophane from the CD made her think of his cigarette packs. Thinking of his cigarette packs made her remember the way his kiss lingered on her lips. Remembering the way his kiss lingered on her lips made her want to celebrate leaving her past behind her, made her want to look to the future. Eagerly she picked at the damnable childproof tape they insisted on putting over the edge of the case. "More work than steamed crab," she complained, but still she wore that fadeless smile. When she emerged victorious, Sarah jutted out her tongue at the mix of plastic and paper as she cracked it open.

What happened then set her back as far as _The Rules of Dating _set back the woman's movement. The CD inside was silver, marked in black ink. No band name. No etched photo. Just the numbers 1-13 clockwise around the disc. At the crown, the number thirteen. Now she didn't take the time to look at the listing. Didn't bother to notice the disc contained thirteen songs. She only stared, closed her eyes and opened them again to, all that to have her mind's eye see an age old grandfather clock, the digits compressed to fit in one that shouldn't have been there. She could hear it bong, hear the clicking of the hands as they were forced forward. When, finally, she managed to break the trance, Sarah dropped the CD to the table and fell back against the couch once more for fear she'd faint. "So much for burying the past," she moaned. A tiny giggle rose in her throat, but within seconds it was that same laughter from the darkest hours of the middle of last night. The one from the elevator. The distinct, unprovoked laughter of a mad woman.


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Mesmerized by the way he sat across from she watched him dragging on the speckled nacho filter of his third cigarette. In her life Sarah Williams had seen many men smoke, but very few had done it well, fewer still who did it quite so well as Ashton did. In his hands that three inch tobacco stem was a paintbrush, a sculptor's knife. The way his slim fingers embraced it, rose it to his lips, art. Once in place he drew gently, pursing his lips, kissing the backs of those two fingers and why not. There were only a finite number of things which did not wish to be pressed against such perfect lips and Sarah knew the satisfaction which came with having been so fortunate.

"Tell me," he began, his left hand reaching across the cast iron café table over which they were sharing lunch, as they did every Monday, "what will you do without me this weekend? Entertain some other, more handsome, lucky bastard?"

Sarah laughed at his insinuation. "Are you saying there are more handsome men out there?" she asked with feigned curiosity. Smiling in a way that told her he didn't believe for a moment that there were. "Seriously, When I'm not subjecting myself to wedding nightmares from hell, I don't really do much of anything. I'll probably just sit around my place and catch up on some reading. I'll need it after this trial."

"What trial?"

"I have a custody hearing Wednesday. I guess it hits a little close to home for me."

"Uh, huh," he acknowledged.

Sarah continued, tears welling in her eyes. "It's pro bono work and it's not that I don't love doing it, but they're always something to do with kids in some way or another and it gets the better of me I suppose." Dabbing the corner of her eyes with her napkin, Sarah let a tiny sniffle slip.

"Why cry Sarah?" Ashton leaned into her. His thumb held up his chin, the two fingers holding his cigarette hovered an inch or so from his face as his ring finger slid side to side over the crease beneath his lower lip. "Emotions are easily controlled things, if you practice at it. All smoke and mirrors really," he explained as he exhaled a puff of smoke over the inside of his thumb.

His comment piqued Sarah's curiosity. "Does that go for all emotions?"

"I have yet to find one that someone somewhere hasn't been able to fake."

Honest, diplomatic, so he wasn't necessary saying he used smoke and mirrors to portray his emotions, only that he had seen it done, but the notion he could find Sarah in the least disingenuous disturbed her. After all, they were sleeping together and that was a level of intimacy she hadn't extended many invitations for. The attorney in her stepped forward, "You don't think I..." she stuttered.

"Oh no," he said emphatically crushing out his cigarette. "I didn't mean you. What we have is transcendent. What we have is magic." Planting a quick peck on her forehead, he excused himself from their date.

For a moment, Sarah remained at the table. The idea of returning to work appealing to her no more than the promise she had made Eldora to stop over for dinner tonight. Other attorneys would have argued she shouldn't be out this soon before a case. She should have been home, preparing, resting. It just wasn't Sarah's way. She did all her preparation in advance and spent the night before a big trial making it the furthest thing from her mind. It made her feel more natural in front of the judge, less like some phony beauty pageant contestant whose answer about world peace had been so rehearsed it didn't sound right without the 'God bless us, everyone' stuck on the end for full effect.

Considering her preferences, it irritated her even more than usual to have thoughts of Rona Chelli consuming her every thought as she sat alone in the café chewing on the end of a thin moss colored straw stuck in a glass half full of ice and completly bereft of any negotiable liquid. Sighing, Sarah banished those obsessive thoughts from her mind and forced herself away from the table. Standing there on the corner, she looked over at her building. In the last few weeks the place had grown more and more inhospitable. Irmscher refused to let go of there squabble over class infrastructure in the firm. Every chance he had he impressed on her just how much she'd managed to wrench the delicate balance of things with her damnable progressive thought Even all these weeks later Sarah still couldn't manage how the disappearance of the use of a few sir names would be the unraveling of western civilization. 'Do I really have to go back,' she thought.

Were it no one would notice, she might just stay here. Outside this little café, enjoying the view she had watching others live their lives. A moment, just one moment away from living her own life. Just as she was letting go of her cares in exchange for concentrating on an aggressive debate going on at the table behind her. Two mid-twenty something women. The topic, lemon juice or lime juice over their fresh greens, which had less calories? Just as Sarah was really getting into the Psi Beta quality conversation, she experienced that sensation, which seemed to wash over her more frequently of late, that distinct feeling of heavy eyes upon her. No longer concerned with the latest in citrus diet tips, she fled for the safety of her secured building. Now rather than observing the strangers on the street, she was the stranger they observed.

* * *

"Ms. Williams, oh Ms. Williams," the young girl who answered the door screeched. "Mama's been waiting. Come on in, I'll tell her you're here."

"Heaven's child if there's a person in the neighborhood who don't know she's here the way you carry on." Eldora came from the kitchen, wiping her hands in a tea towel she'd fed through the tie of her apron. "Miss Sarah, I'm so glad you could make it. Now give Lily your sweater and have a seat. I'll get you a glass of wine. Dinner's near done."

Lily took the wrap from Sarah's shoulders. "I graduated two weeks ago, Ms. Williams. High honors, had a special gold tassel and everything. There were only 15 of us out of the whole class, out of 120 of us."

"Remarkable Lily, I'm very proud of you." She gave the girl a quick squeeze around the shoulder.

"Thank you Ms. Williams." Sarah sat on the edge of a settee and the young girl sat close beside her. Reaching over, Lily placed a hand atop the pair which Sarah had neatly folded in her lap. "I couldn't have done it without you," here she faltered some, "without what you did for me and mama."

Looking into her eyes, Sarah could see the deep mahogany swimming behind choked back tears. "I didn't do much," she said modestly. "It was your mom who was brave enough to stand up for herself, stand up for you." She clutched the young girls hands and let herself think what things could have been like otherwise. Shaking off the bleak alternative Sarah added, "I hope you know your mother would have done anything, anything," she reiterated, "to keep you safe."

"And still would," Eldora added as she came behind them and placed a solid kiss on the top of her daughter's braided hair. "But you," she directed her attentions to Sarah, "you did more for us both than you could ever know. It's one thing to want out. I wanted out, for sure I did. But Miss Sarah, I don't know that I _could_ have gotten out without help, without your help."

"It was my pleasure," Sarah nodded. "As is this." Breaking free from Lily's grip, she reached into the external sleeve of her briefcase. "I was going to mail this," she explained as she handed the myrtle blossom, five by seven envelope to the girl, "but, well just open it up."

Lily looked at her mother. "Go on," she urged.

Gently, Lily slipped a finger in the corner of the back flap and carefully followed along the sharp angle accurately in order to preserve as much of the envelope as possible. Inside was a bifold sugar wafer colored card embossed with metallic blue corn script. _Congratulations! _written in large letters above a graduation cap with a gold tassel. It was just like the one Lily had worn in her ceremony. Scattered about the entire face were a rainbow myriad of confetti pieces and lengths of ribbon. She withdrew the card slowly, already the tears she had held back earlier beginning to stain her perfect complection with streaks of cinnamon. Opening it, she quickly flipped a loose slip of paper around to the back of the card and held it there with her index finger.

She read the preprinted message first, "_The caps have all been tossed. Your gowns been tucked away. All that's left of graduation, are your memories of the day. But what awaits you now, is a beginning grand and new. You've made us all so proud, that we wish the best for you._"

Before she read what Sarah had neatly printed in medium ballpoint at the bottom, Lily looked up and smiled affectionately at her friend and then her mother. "Dearest Lily, From the moment I first met you, I knew you were destine for great things. Over the years you've grown to surpass even my fondest dreams for you. You have become a lovely, competent, intelligent young woman and you have set high goals for yourself. I'm proud of you for that. So many kids your age have no goals for themselves or they set goals that don't require them to reach for anything. I want you to reach for the stars and I want you to catch them. All my love, Ms. Williams"

Pulling the paper scrap forward, Lily gasped. "Ms. Williams, I can't take this."

Eldora plucked it from fingers as Sarah began to object. "Oh, Miss Sarah," she cried out balancing herself with one hand on the back of the couch and the other, with the check still in it, pressed against her chest. "I can't believe what I'm seeing, can't believe it."

"Believe it Eldora. And I won't hear one more word about you not accepting that money."

"But Miss Williams," Sarah held her hand up to Lily.

"$2,500! $2,500! Oh Lily child, you thank Miss Sarah. This'll be enough to get you started in college. Oh Miss Sarah, Miss Sarah!" She grabbed the woman and held her tight to her bosom as if she were another child of hers. "I don't know how I'll do it, but I'll repay you, some day. Thank you, from the very bottom of my heart, thank you."

Sarah would have thought she was nose to nose with Eldora's appreciative heart for how firm the woman's ribs felt against her face. At least she'd managed a quick deep breath before being captured. Eldora loosened her grip and Lily took advantage of the new freedom to throw her arms lovingly around her benefactor and shower her cheek with kisses. "I won't let you down," she promised. "I won't."

"I know you won't Lily, you couldn't possibly and Eldora, this is not a loan. This is my gift to Lily and I want you to let me know any time you need my help to keep her in college. I don't want anything to interfere with this one's success." Taking Lily's chin between her thumb and forefinger, Sarah looked deeply into her eyes, "There's so much in there, so much potential. She could be anything, _anything_. I won't settle for less than your fullest satisfaction."

"I wanna be just like you Ms. Williams, just like you."

"That's right," Eldora boasted like a peacock. "She's sent her application out to the University of Chicago Law School."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh, ma'am. I told you, I want to be just like you. I want to help other people get themselves right, like you helped us."

Sarah embraced her firmly, feeling as proud of her as she would have her own child coming to this conclusion. This was the sort of thing that validated a human being. Most days Sarah's job was just that, a job, a means to make money, but one day, one day long ago when her career meant something more, she had done something right. It didn't take long hours of drafting briefs. It wasn't late night wining and dining of contract clients. It wasn't a heated phone call meant to renegotiate terms to one side or the other. It was one perfect, profound moment when she had shaped another heart, by doing nothing more complicated than what was right. "You won't be like me, you know. You'll be better," she confirmed when the girl looked at her with solemn disappointment. "Now, I know some people at the school. I'll make a few calls," Sarah offered as she wiped her tears away. "You'll get in on your own merit, that's for sure, but I can recommend you for a few grants. Get an application for aid," she told Eldora. "I'm sure you'll qualify for a good portion of things. Here's my promise." Sarah pulled a legal pad and a pen from her case and did a bit of scribbling before handing the canary yellow sheet over to Eldora.

"I, Sarah Williams ("Grantor")," she read, "do hereby grant unto Lillian Curtis ("Recipient") a lump sum payment of $2,500 on a semi-annual basis. This sum payment is conditioned as follows: 1) such sum be used to pay debts associated with Recipient's education at the University of Chicago Law School and only to pay such debts; and 2) Recipient must maintain a grade point average of no less than 3.65 for any given semester at the University of Chicago Law School. Upon receiving acknowledgment that the Recipient has met the terms and conditions of this gift, Grantor will issue a check, in the Recipient's name toward expenses for the following semester. If at any time, the Recipient fails to comply with the terms and conditions of this gift, Recipient will not receive the promised gift, but will resume receipt of the gift upon resuming her compliance with the terms and conditions of this gift. This offer is valid for the entire term of Recipient's education and will not cease until such time as the Recipient graduates. None of the funds promised to the Recipient are due and or payable to the Grantor, her successors or assigns and no repayment will be accepted for such funds by the Grantor, her successors or assigns." Eldora paused without reading the closing. 'Legally contracted by' followed by Sarah's signature. "What does all this mean?"

"It means, Sarah smiled. That as long as Lily maintains a 3.65 grade point average I will write her a check for $2,500 each semester. Those funds are to be used solely to further her education. I will continue to do this each and every semester that she reaches a 3.65 grade point average up until the time she graduates, and I have no doubt that she will graduate. It's the least I can do."

Eldora fell into a chair at Sarah's side. "Good Lord! If I couldn't smell the roast in my oven I'd swear I was dreaming. Miss Sarah, I can't let you do this."

Sarah cleared her throat and straightened her back delivering in a most professional manner, "Ms. Curtis, please be aware that what you have there is a legal binding contract between myself and Miss Curtis. As her mother and custodian, you are held liable for your daughter's actions until such time as she turns 18, until then, if you were to refuse acceptance of the funds it would breach the contract. I would hate to sue you for breach of contract Ms. Curtis."

Roaring with laughter, Eldora swatted her hand at Sarah before grabbing her sides and making her way to the kitchen to check the roast. As she went she mumbled, "You sure are a character, now. Never seen no one as kind and generous as you, nope. Not another like you anywhere."

"Thank you Ms. Williams, more than words can say."

"Make me send you that check every semester and that will be all the thanks I need." Another fast hug and she offered, "What's say we go give your mom and hand in the kitchen.

* * *

Having Tuesday off was a blessing. Eldora's roast with potatoes and carrots had left her feeling very sleepy when she arrived home. Not having to hear a screaming clock at some obscene hour of the morning was fabulous. In fact, as she downed her second cup of coffee that morning, Sarah made the executive decision to remain in her pajamas as her celebration of independence. Looking down she noted her blue pin striped bottoms and the white tank which modestly covered her. Two-thirds committed to the theme of the day she felt justified.

Upside down in the top drawer of the dishwasher Sarah set down the mug. So many things she'd put off and Lily had inspired her. Such a bright young girl, so motivated. It reminded Sarah very much of herself once. There was a copy of Linda Berdoll's newest release sitting in her home office. It had been released in March and Sarah had yet to read so much as the back cover. Her closet was bulging with good pieces that she didn't wear, and for almost a year now she had thought about cleaning it out and donating any gently used and no longer desired pieces. The kitchen floor was clean, but it had been awhile since she'd gotten on her hands and knees and bleached the grout. The carpets could almost always use vacuuming. Plenty to do, plenty to keep her mind off the trial, off Tim, off Ashton and off Jareth.

She hadn't thought of the Goblin King once the previous day. Coincidentally she had no encounter with his essence. Too much else to be bothered with, she had supposed, to be plagued by his memory which was obviously what was making him seem so vivid to her. Sarah had lost her focus, allowed everything she'd buried to resurface. It was time to put an end to that. Time to reclaim her life.

A good purge always made Sarah feel like having a fresh start. Up the stairs, into the closet she went, five large garbage bags in hand ready to rid herself of the material things which weighed her down emotionally twice what they did physically. Business suits were the first thing to go. A few shades that had been in seasons ago established a base in the first bag. On top of that went the suits which no longer complimented her frame. Blouses, shells and camisoles based the bottom of a second bag. She'd worn them once, found them very disagreeable and they'd sat in plastic bags in her closet, the receipts dated from last spring still attached on the upper right hand corner. The third bag she used to hold the hangers, plastic bags and paper toppers.

In with the blouses, Sarah tossed some of her 'play' clothes. Jeans, jogging pants, t-shirts, some of her lesser used but more decent nightwear. Nothing personal, no underwear or intimate apparel. She just didn't feel right giving those things to other people. Then on to her formal wear. Dresses, gowns, a woman's tuxedo which she'd bought to do galas when she worked with her pro bono clients more regularly. That could go. It was horribly out of style. Ex-brides maids dresses crowned the fifth bag. In her hand, Sarah held the dress Rowan had made for her. Looking from it to the bag, she wished there'd been enough room to stuff it in there. After a few seconds of feeling the material in her hands, she decided that she couldn't part with it. She'd turn it into something else. Erase the connection of that dress with Rowan in any way.

Neatly folding it, Sarah set it on the top of her compartmentalized shoe organizer. For a second she thought about going through her shoes, but then better decided that each and every one of the nearly five dozen pairs of footwear she owned were comfortable and utilized often enough to earn their residency. "Much better," she declared as she stood back to survey the more roomy closet. Retrieving the bag of refuse she filled it with various under things that had out lived their usefulness. She found a pair of red slipper socks in the corner of her drawer. A long since received Christmas gift. Thinking it topped off, or more specifically, bottomed off her Independence Day ensemble. On the top shelf which ran around the entire closet about a foot and a half down from the ceiling were al sorts of what not type things. Hat boxes and hand bags. A large preservation box which contained her wedding dress. Sarah snorted at the idea she'd kept the thing. Regardless, she came to the conclusion that keeping those things outweighed any benefit that sorting through them would have provided.

Pulling the chain to switch off the light, Sarah dragged the bags out into the bedroom. One by one she sent them rolling end over end to the lower floor. Tomorrow she'd call AMVETS to pick everything up. When the last bag hit the bottom of the stairs she contemplated going back for the wedding gown. Then she thought about what she would do if she were to get remarried. She wouldn't want someone else's gown. She'd want something uniquely her own, something which expressed the life she was about to embark on.

The dress she'd bought to marry Tim in was elegant, but extravagant for sure. Sleeveless, she'd gone tanning in order to insure that her skin popped a brilliant bronze tone against the crisp English Ivory . The high collar banded neatly around her throat and was coated in pearls. From there a form fitted lace bodice covered her to the waist. A full skirt seemed to run in every direction from her waist, like sun rays on a June morning. A beautiful a-line wave of silk, unmarred by any sort of unnecessary decoration. About her waist a ribbon covered in pearls mimicking the throat.

Behind her a medium sized train kissed the ground, but what pushed the dress off the ordinary platform and to the extreme side of the extraordinary platform was the lace petticoat. Eight pearl buttons joined a wide section around her middle. Long sleeves covered her bare arms coming to a point on the back of her hand, where a nearly invisible band of elastic looped over her middle finger, a tear drop pearl accentuating the hand trimmed detail. The neckline was trimmed to let the collar of her dress show through, but behind her, cascading over her full skirt was seven yards of the intricate lace outlined in a bias edge. Upon closer inspection, one may have noticed the tiny pearls sewn carefully around the edge of the train, that is if anyone could have torn their eyes away from her love stained face.

She'd gotten her stylist to do a neat, clean French twist fed with baby's breath and pearl edged hair pins. If Laney hadn't have known better, she'd have thought the woman she helped into all these layers of lace and satin had been a model straight from the pages of Modern Bride. Laney was no slouch herself in a spaghetti strap coral number that flowed around her legs when she walked like a cloud.

Fashions were only one small part of it, the entire event went off without a hitch. If anything went wrong, Sarah didn't know about it. No one complained, all the right songs got played, the menu was just as they had planned, the centerpieces were all fresh, the favors all had the right names and the right date. On second thought, maybe dresses didn't always express the life the couple was about to embark on.

Since she finally convinced herself to sign the divorce papers, Sarah hadn't thought about getting remarried, but she thought about it now. Ashton was the first man she had seen more than once since Tim and things seemed to be progressing nicely. Who knew? Maybe someday. What would a wedding between them be like? A white lace up corset top together with a short skirt, perhaps some white fishnet stockings that disappeared into the tops of some old English granny boots, white leather for sure. 'Oh God,' she thought, it would be just like a Billy Idol video.

Her reverie had taken her quite a distance from her original thoughts. There was more to get done today. Down the stairs she trudged. Dragging the bags back to a tiny cove beneath the stairs. Wisely, she made herself some tuna on toast before she began the floor. No sense hand scrubbing a floor and then crumbing it up again.

The scrubbing wasn't so bad, in her continuing series of 1980's flashbacks, she felt very Daniel-san, on her knees repeatedly covering small circles of floor. Right hand sand, left hand sand. Right hand sand, left hand sand. It was actually pretty relaxing. It wasn't until several hours had gone by and she had managed only a sad quarter of the floor grout with her trusty Clorox bleach pen gel. Wiping away a stray hair which seemed to have an unnatural, inseparable attachment to her left eye, Sarah asked herself why she didn't have someone come in semi monthly and take care of things on her behalf. In the end, she got back to bleaching and banished the notion, deciding it would be far too much to expect anyone to live up to the definition of clean she'd set for herself.

Feeling particularly scummy after the one on one with the three inch square tiles, Sarah went up to get a nice hot shower. The day had waned away quickly, more quickly than she might have liked. Vacuuming had become a task she decided to forget about when she saw dusk approaching in the picture window. Nothing left to do now but think, think about all those things she'd sworn this morning not to think on. Most of which had already invaded her conscious earlier. Every time she closed her eyes and let the water stream over her face their was a different set of eyes came into her mind. She was quite glad to be done with her conditioning treatment.

She rushed to dry and dress herself as if someone had her under constant surveillance. Slipped on a gown, tied on a matching robe, acquired her novel, coupled it with a generous glass of wine and sat herself inside the sliding glass doors of the balcony. No one to share her apartment with, she could have easily switched on the light, but she would have rather sat there in the fading natural light, a single torpedo candle alight in an old fashion, Wee Willy Winky style handpit, for light.

It was the forth of July after all. Chicago would let loose an enormous display of Grade A fireworks when the night sky reached it's deepest blue. For years now Sarah had watched, hoping for something in the bright array of sparks to ignite something inside her. When she was young, she could remember watching the action from the nape of her father's neck, completely engulfed in the display. The sight of it. All those colors and shapes. Speeding vertical snakes, spanning weeping willows of sparks, popcorn sporadic bursts, mushroom blasts in every color of the imagination. Every now and again a hazy grey cloud of smoke would accumulate and dissipate in the lateral breeze. Almost as exciting as the sight, the sound. The pop which preceded the explosion, occasionally a thunderous boom followed a quick flash of white light, but of all the exciting sounds to accompany the lights, it was the whistle of a speeding bottle rocket that turned Sarah's head the quickest. Something about the anticipation of it.

Those years had come, gone and been antiqued by now. It didn't seem to matter how much she focused on what she knew she had felt once, she couldn't resuscitate those emotions. Not even her one time favorite whistle brought her any joy. The book however turned out to be better than she was expecting. Sarah never did hold out much hope for sequels.

Eventually the sparks died out and the candle had burnt the full length of it stem. Dog earring the corner of the first page of a new chapter, she set the book near the stereo. With any lucky, she'd finish it before the first snow fell. Most likely it would sit so long it would gather dust and even comprehending the events which were to follow from this point would require a quick synopsis of the previous events.

A yawn, a stretch and heavy feet were ready to carry Sarah to her bed. She prayed for a dreamless sleep and the wisdom to do what's best for the child she'd be defending in court tomorrow, "but," she bargained, "if I can have only one, I'm happy to wake up with nightmares tonight if it means this kid doesn't have to wake up with them for the rest of its life."

* * *

Blue, blue was always a good choice for court days. Judges respected blue, opposing council feared it, for Sarah, it certainly fit her mood. A starched south sea cotton shirt beneath a fresh pressed cobalt suit, navy pumps, not just any pumps, her lucky trial pumps, the one's she'd never lost a case in. One last thing, the silver Cross pen of her fathers. It was his favorite when he was alive. Sarah kept it with her when she wanted to draw on her father's strength. In all the years he'd had it, Robert Williams had used the metallic gem to sign his most valuable things. If there was any magic left in it at all, and Sarah hoped there were, then the same mojo which always guided him to make good decisions for his family would hold up for her. 'Oh please,' she thought slipping it into her briefcase.

She tried a number of cases in her years as an attorney. For each she'd gone through the same ritual preparation each time. Three to four days of intensive research and drafting, bullet points carefully plotted out on her examination pads, witness lists, labeled exhibits. Then a day completely away from it. The space she needed to keep from sounding like a recording. A quick review of things while she was waiting for her case to be called, a few minutes of calming her client, reassuring everything would be fine. When the bailiff called her case, she stepped forward, switching into a mode her system converted to involuntarily.

For the Chelli case, everything had gone as usual. If anything, the fates had blessed her with a entire day at home with which to create the space she needed between her and the case. It had been a good day, much accomplished, several hundred pages of quality fiction consumed. So what was the problem today. Why did the pavement seem somehow more grey than usual? The sun shone brightly enough in a pond blue sky, but it got lost somewhere between the atmosphere and where she stood. Her head felt scattered, more so than was normal when she knew she had a case to present, but not much more than it felt as of late over all.

Regardless of the fact she didn't necessarily believe the circumstances of her client's accusations against her ex-husband, she would defend her on the simple merit that this man had in fact come in and taken her child. No mother in her right mind would have let something like that go, they couldn't. No one understood that better than Sarah. "Give me the child," she heard the wind whisper.

Whipping around, she saw no one. It was 10:30 on a work day, most people were inside the buildings she was walking passed. A mother pushing a two seater stroller came at her tearily. In the stranger's defense, Sarah was acting a bit erratic as she chased this mystery voice. "Why are you doing this?" she asked the thin air causing the mother to increase her pace and hurry away.

"Forget about the child."

"I can't, don't you understand that I can't." A thin sweat had broken out on her brow.

"Can't what?" Rona Chelli asked as she descended the courthouse steps to join Sarah's side.

The woman stammered when her client confronted her. "I can't accept the fact that your ex-husband stole your child from you. I just can't accept that."

"Oh, OK, so your just practicing for the trial."

"You don't know how long I've been practicing for this trial."

She led her to a private area where they could review their case. They were scheduled to be heard at 11:00. By ten to they were sat waiting to be called. Sarah tapped her silver Cross pen against her examination pad. In frustration, Rona plucked the pen from her hand. "I know I don't know the first thing about lawyering, but I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be sitting here looking nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Sarah defended. "I'm eager." 'Yes,' she thought, 'eager to get this over with.'

Though not as quickly as she might have liked, the bailiff called their case before the judge. "Are counsel both prepared to give opening statements?"

"Yes your honor," Sarah replied as did her opposition.

Folding his hands, the middle aged judge leaned forward onto his bench. The salt and pepper hair that seemed to drip down passed his ears and settle over his chin and upper lip made him appear very intimidating. "Prosecution, please present your case."

"Thank you your honor," Sarah bowed her head slightly in his direction to denote her gratitude. "Today we gather in this courtroom with just one purpose, that purpose is to ensure the safety and security of Marina Feucht, the minor child of Rona Chelli. Why, you might ask, does a minor child need protection from its own parent? I don't think I need to impress upon the court just how common it is in our time, to come across such an instance. Perhaps our parent's parents saw it less, but these days it is no more shocking to hear these tales of disgrace in any daily paper than it is to read the score of the city's most recent sporting event. We are no more phased by the bulk mail addressed plainly to 'resident' which captions the history of any number of abductions in a synopsis of six lines or less than we are by advertisements for sales and offers of credit. In short we have become immune to the injustices a child can be done by its own parents.

"If it please the court I mean to bring these injustices to light today. Unable to speak on her own behalf, Marina is dependant upon the court to speak for her. And so you see we are neither here for the wants and wishes of the Defendant, Mr. Feucht, nor are we here to put at ease the mind of my troubled client, who remains beside herself at the notions of what was done to her child, but we are here for this child.

"It is fact that the child was removed from her mother's home on a regular scheduled Friday evening. This I'm sure neither side will object to. But where I'm most sure our versions of truth will differ are in the recounting of the events of that following Monday. Exhibits entered by the prosecution will evidence that calls were received by my client from the day care facility where her daughter was to be taken by Mr. Feucht. Sworn statements from several employees of the facility will show they participated in a call in which Ms. Chelli's identity was assumed by another. Further exhibits will show that my client made numerous desperate attempts to contact her ex-husband when she believed her child had gone missing as shall a police report filed by my client with regard to the disappearance of her child.

"Mind you, the defense would be more than foolish to tell you anything other than that he and his new wife, whom you find seated obediently at his right hand side, had the express consent of his ex-wife to take their child away. But I ask you, how can we be expected to put any great merit in this presumption when, rather than merely phoning the day care to notify them that the child would be out on holiday, those professionals were told the infant was ill and unable to attend? And how many persons would have privilege as to the health of the child in the first place? Surely, with Ms. Chelli's family out of state and Mr. Feucht's parent's both deceased, there would not be cause for many to have custody of the child enough to be aware of such an intimate fact.

"When a full sixteen days later, Ms. Chelli was finally made aware that her child was outside the borders of the United States..."

Sarah's comments went on, drowned out by the until now calm Mr. Feucht, who stood fiercely his hands slammed flat against the table behind which he had been sat. "It was Canada for Christ's sake!" he cried out. His counsel clutched his arm and whispered through gritted teeth instructions at him.

"Mr. Feucht, without embarrassing you with a brief geography lesson I would like us to agree that Canada, albeit a good neighbor, is still not a part of these United States. That is unless you've been made aware otherwise."

"No, your honor." Like a scolded child he took his seat once more.

The judge leveled his stair at the Defendant's counsel, "I suggest you review the concept of contempt with your client."

"Yes you honor. Our apologies to the court."

"Go on Ms. Williams."

"Thank you your honor," she nodded to him again. "As I was saying, When a full sixteen days later, Ms. Chelli was finally made aware that her child was outside the borders of the United States, well any woman, with or without children of her own, would surely understand that sort of anxiety. Too beside herself in fact to press for facts at that time, my client chose instead to relish in the return of her child.

"The defense will ask you to believe their actions to be harmless, the intent only to share in their own new union with Mr. Feucht's only child, but the evidence I have to present to you today will show a different side, a darker side. I propose to show you a man, if such a title is applicable, who under a guise of goodness, stole away with his own child in the night. Took her away from her court appointed home, away from her mother, away from all she has ever known and returned her later, not out of the kindness of his heart, not because the time he vowed had been a request had ended, but because it took those sixteen days for the officers in the investigation to find this man and force him under penalty of prison to bring the child home."

Thus far her delivery had been infallible. Even when Mr. Feucht attempted to interrupt her, she stayed focused, calm. It was like watching something from one of those legal dramas on television. Her tone, her posture, her emphasis all working together to convey just the right attitudes. "He will deny this, deny all of this, but if our case is as unfounded as they claim then answer this for me. Why are Mr. Feucht's visits with his daughter now subject to supervision by the court? Why has the court resigned his right to remove his daughter from the city limits of Chicago, let alone the state of Illinois, let alone the United States in whole? Why would the court waste it's time and resources, if not to protect the rights of an innocent child who cannot speak for herself, but can only blindly trust the parent whom she thinks she should be able to trust?

"I can think of only one reason and that reason is that Mr. Feucht, regardless of what he may seem to be here in the court room today, is in fact capable of abducting his child and in fact did abduct his child that Friday, after willfully misleading his ex-wife, after willfully misleading the day care center as he will undoubtedly willfully mislead or attempt to willfully mislead this court. I wish I were wrong. For Marina's sake I wish I were wrong, but my heart tells me I am not. Once you've seen the evidence I think your hearts will tell you the same, but if you think I am wrong, tell me now. Tell me now and we can all stop wasting our time and go home."

For all the passion she had in the delivery of her opening statement, she closed it with poise and grace. Filled with confidence, she almost dared the audience to disagree with her, making them feel foolish for thinking anyway but hers, cavalier, like they were taking lightly the fate of the world. It was as much a work of art as her movement on the dance floor.

Taking her seat next to her client, Sarah placed a protective hand over Rona's only to have Rona pull away. Angrily she whispered firmly, "What about the other stuff? What about the bruises? What about the way he beats my daughter?"

"We've got no proof." Sarah was more quiet, but equally firm. "We can get the same result this way, just trust me."

"Trust you? I don't even know you!"

"You knew your ex-husband, at least you thought you did, and you trusted him," Sarah countered as the defense began it's case. "Look what that got you."

"What if they decide it's not kidnaping because he's her daddy?"

"It doesn't matter if he's her father. He abducted your child, we can prove that. We don't need to resort to lying."

"This is my child, lady. Do you have any idea what it's like to have your child taken away?" In fact, Sarah did know exactly what it was like to have a child taken from you, but that was a secret Rona Chelli hadn't earned the right to share. "I won't lose her again. I won't. I don't care what I have to do."

"Then we have that much in common," Sarah assured her before returning her attention the opposing counsel's presentation. "We both hate to lose."

* * *

"I will," Rona Chelli claimed as she removed her hand from the rough surface of the bible in the bailiff's hand.

"Could you describe for me the nature of your relationship with Mr. Feucht?"

"We met in high school. We dated through college. By 22 we were married, at 30 we had Marina."

Sarah stopped her client, "Ms. Chelli, let me be more specific. Is the relationship you have with Mr. Feucht friendly?"

"I wouldn't call us friends, no."

This is exactly why she wanted to meet with her before hand. "Not friends, are the two of you civil to one another or is there a lot of bickering?"

"No, we don't yell or argue."

"And would you say Mr. Feucht is a good father?"

"He loves Marina. Never missed a visit. He's always early to pick her up."

"Has there ever been a time when you allowed Mr. Feucht to take his daughter when it was not so scheduled by the court?"

"A few."

"What were some of those occassions?"

"Vacations, visits to his brother's place, a trip to his grandmother's, she's in a retirement village in Clearwater, trips to the zoo, evenings in the park when he was in our neighborhood, those sort of things." Rona took on a look of absolute whimsy.

"Did you accompany Mr. Feucht on these outtings?"

"Maybe a few times to the park, one of the trips to the zoo."

"Did you document these visits?"

"I kept a record, I was advised by legal aid to do so."

"Your honor, Exhibit A." Sarah submitted copies of the plaintiff's records. The judge onced them over and agreed that they would be admitted. Sarah put the record in front of her client. "Ms Chelli, is this a copy of your log?"

"Yes."

"Can you read the first entry please?"

"November 04 - David came to take Rona to the park. The three of us spent a little over an hour there."

"And now the fifth entry please."

"December 21 - David is spending the week between Christmas and New Year's in Albequerque with his brother and sister in law. He has asked to take Rona. They will leave on December 27th and return January 3rd. David has asked that he be allowed to pick up Marina the evening of the 26th because their flight is very early the next day."

"And did you agree to that plan?"

"Yes."

"Did you evidence your agreement?"

"Yes, the attorney recommended that I do that."

"Your honor," Sarah pointed out handing over a stack of papers. "Exhibits B-E, letters written by Ms. Chelli agreed and acknowledged to by Mr. Feucht each thoroughly documenting Mr. Feucht's requests to travel with his daughter. Each of those documents your honor, destinctly gives the day on which the child was given to Mr. Feucht and the day which the child was to be returned. There are terms and conditions of who is to provide the child's supplies." Focussing on Rona again, Sarah asked, "How often did you draft these agreements."

"Any time he asked to take her and I wasn't going to be with them. It's what the attorney said I should do."

"If only more people listened to their counsel's advance. I commend you Ms. Chelli for your thorough documentation," the judge interjected.

"Could you read the last entry of your log please?"

"May 31st - David wants to take Rona overnight, just to spend some extra time with her. Rather than pick her up for his regular Friday this week, I've agreed to let him take her tomorrow."

"That's the last entry?"

"Yes."

"There is no entry for the 16th of June?"

"No."

"Where you aware of anything significant happening that weekend?"

"He's was getting remarried." Rona's lips quivered.

"Did you authorize your ex-husband to take your child on his honeymoon with his new wife." Rona shook her head. "For the record, please make an auditory response," Sarah advised.

"No."

Sarah approached the witness box. "One last question Ms. Chelli, are you still in love with your husband?"

Rona looked shocked. Her fingernails dug into the wood before her, hesitant to answer, she stared around. The judge, her attorney, the court report, the bailiff, David. Theirs had not been the easiest relationship, but they worked hard, together to make things better and they did improve, enough that they talked about having a child. Eight years of working out there own snags, had made them feel comfortable enough, strong enough to want to bring a child into their life. Marina. Rona Chelli wouldn't have said the child was the one to blame for the sudden breakdown of their marriage, but it was while she was pregnant that things began to break apart.

Wrought with morning sickness for nearly five months, Rona had not felt much like fulfilling her wifely duty to the husband she had. David said he understood, but rather than rushing home after work, as he once had, he stayed late, picked up any number of jobs that would have normally found their way to the younger men in his employ. Most times she'd be in bed before he even got home. He even missed the delivery of their child.

Fatherhood appealed to him, but only the neat, clean aspects of it. He loved to parade his dauther around his friends and associates. Little bows in her hair, pretty dresses, white patten leather shoes her tiny feet would never use. He'd rub her back to sleep and lie there for hours with her passed out on his chest, but when there was crying involved, dirty diapers involved, feeding involved, he was removed, disinterested.

Then there was the day he came home, sat her down while their daughter napped. "I thought I was ready for this Ronnie, but I'm not. It's not that I don't love you, that I don't love Marina, but life isn't the same anymore. You're a mother all the time, you're not a wife anymore."

Rona sat speechless tears streaming down her face, sweetly she leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I can try harder, we'll hire a sitter a couple of days a week. Whatever it takes."

He placed his hands softly on her upper arms and pressed her back from him dismissing her affections, "I just don't look at you the same way anymore. I'm sorry."

When he stood up and walked out, she just watched him leave. They'd fought enough to get to this point and she wouldn't fight him now. As she always had, she would give him what he wanted. She had made him this way by giving into him, standing up now wouldn't help. So she gave him the divorce, gave him the visitation that he asked for. Then she went back to being the only thing she knew how to be well, a mother.

"Ms. Chelli," the judge asked softly attracting her attention again. He noticed how her eyes glistened. "Please answer the question."

Before the words could fall from her lips, the tears were staining them. "Yes. I am still in love with my husband."

Back at the defendant's table there was a gasp from the new Mrs. Feucht. David was nudging his attorney. "Objection," the man in the grey Joseph A. Bank blazer shouted. "Your honor, my client fails to see where this is relative to the case."

"Your honor, it only stands to prove that Ms. Chelli has always been reasonable with her ex-husband, most likely because she remained in love with him all these months. I submit this into evidence to show that Ms. Chelli would have no reason to suddenly become unreasonable as she remains in love with him."

"Over ruled." Rona was distraught now. Her shoulders shook in the witness box. "In light of this witness's current emotional state, the court will recess. Fifteen mintues." His gavel crashed against its platform echoing in the sterile silence of the court room.

* * *

"Mrs. Feucht," opposing counsel said gently to the fragile red head in the witness box, "I would like to thank you for testifying here today."

Leaning into the skinny microphone before her, she softly replied, "My husband and I have nothing to hide."

"I know Mrs. Feucht. Let's begin, shall we? Please summarize for the court the events of June 16th."

"My shift ends at 5:00pm. David picked me up."

"David Feucht your husband?"

"Yes, and after my husband picked me up from work we went straight over to Rona's place."

"Ms. Chelli?"

"Yes."

"And the reason you visited Ms. Chelli's residence that evening was?"

"We were picking up David's daughter, Marina."

"Mrs. Feucht, are you aware of any court order in effect which governs Mr. Feucht's visitation with his child?"

"Yes I am."

"And have you read that court order?"

"I have."

"Mrs. Feucht, could you, for the benefit of the court restate the terms of that order."

"Yes. David picks up his daughter at 5:30 Friday night and we return her to day care at 8:00 am Monday morning."

"And on this day, what time did you arrive at the Chelli residence?"

"About quarter after 5:00."

"Were you allowed at that time to leave with the minor child."

"Of course."

"Mrs. Feucht, you said of course, as though you wouldn't have thought anything of picking up Mr. Feucht's child early. Was this something the plaintiff often permitted."

"Regularly."

"Every visit."

"Not every visit. I didn't always get out right at 5:00."

"Could you estimate the number of visits for which you arrive early?"

"I'd say nine out of every ten visits."

"Was there anything special about this particular visit?"

"Absolutely. We were being married the next day."

"Was Ms. Chelli aware of your impending nuptials.

"She was. In fact we planned our wedding specifically for a weekend when we already had Marina."

"Because Ms. Chelli wouldn't have allowed her to attend otherwise?"

"No, Rona never objected to any extra time David wanted to spend with his daughter. We were trying our best not to impose."

"How generous of you." Sarah cocked her head at counsel's compliment. "What happened after the wedding?"

"We were leaving Sunday afternoon for our honeymoon."

"Was Marina going to accompany you for the honeymoon."

"Yes."

Rona leaned into Sarah, "That's a lie."

"Not in her mind," Sarah replied

"Mrs. Feucht, what arrangements were made regarding Marina's visit?"

"We were to be allowed to keep Marina for the full two weeks of our honeymoon. We picked her up just before the rehearsal dinner and would have her for a total of eighteen days."

"Did you make any arrangements with her day care facility?"

"David had asked me to call earlier in the week and let them know she wouldn't be in. If you call early enough, they are able to pull her from the roster and you're not charged for the days."

"And you failed to make that call?"

"I was preoccupied with the wedding."

"Did you ever call the facility?"

"Monday morning. I called in, told them I was David's wife and that we were taking Marina to the hospital for a high fever."

"Was that the truth Mrs. Feucht."

"No," she whimpered.

"What is the truth Mrs. Feucht?"

"Marina was fine. The emergency gave me the opportunity to have her out of day care without any penalty."

"Was it just the penalty you were worried about?"

"No," the new Mrs. Feucht dabbed at her eyes. "We had just gotten married. The last thing I wanted was to upset my husband by having him find out I hadn't done what he had asked. I panicked. In hind sight it was the wrong thing to do."

"We've all made mistakes Mrs. Feucht." Opposing counsel took a tiny sip of water from the tall glass on the edge of the table where Mr. Feucht watched on. "And how was your honeymoon?"

"Horrible. Two nights before we were to come home, the police knocked on our hotel room door. They came in and said they were taking Marina. As you can guess, my husband was very upset. Neither of us understood what was happening. They ripped her out of her crib and took her away. It was the middle of the night." She was weeping again. "They left us with nothing but papers saying we should contact a lawyer."

"Did you finish out your honeymoon?"

"No, we paid the penalties to the hotel and headed home immediately."

"Mrs. Feucht is there anything you'd like to say to Ms. Chelli?"

Sarah bolted form her chair, "Objection your honor. Counsel knows better."

"Sustained," the judge concurred. "I'm sure counsel only temporarily forgot himself."

"Surely your honor. I merely wanted to demonstrate Mrs. Feucht's remorse for the misunderstanding."

"So noted," the judge said sternly, "now may we proceed."

"No further questions."

Turning to Sarah, the judge asked, "Will there be a cross examination?"

"Yes, thank you your honor." Sarah approached the witness box. "Mrs. Feucht you claim Ms. Chelli was aware of your arrangement to take her daughter to Canada."

"She was."

"I see," Sarah cleared her throat, Placing a copy of the previously submitted exhibits before the witness, she asked, "Is that your husband's signature?"

"It is."

"Mrs. Feucht, please take a moment to review the exhibits I just handed you." Sarah waited patiently. After a few moments, Mrs. Feucht looked back toward her. "Do you understand the information which you've just read."

"Yes."

"And in your opinion, what is the purpose of those letters, collectively?"

"They're visitation arrangements made between Rona and my husband."

"Would you agree they were thorough?"

"I suppose."

"When did you begin seeing Mr. Feucht?"

"In January of this year."

"And when were you first exposed to his daughter?"

"Shortly thereafter."

"Please define shortly, Mrs. Feucht. Was it a month?"

"More like a week and a half or so."

Sarah smiled, "Very good, then can we agree at least, that those documents which pertain to visitation which you have witnessed since becoming involved with Mr. Feucht are accurate."

"Yes."

"Why was no documentation provided for this alleged visitation?"

"Your honor," counsel for the Feucht's interrupted. "I have a copy of the agreement as it pertains to this visitation."

"Bailiff, please, bring me his evidence."

"Your honor, I have not been made aware of this piece of evidence."

He looked it over briefly and handed it to Sarah who examined it as well. "Mrs. Feucht, can you explain why Ms. Chelli's signature does not appear on this agreement?"

"She refused to sign until after David did. We couldn't get it back to her before we left. There was a lot to be done and we forgot. Rona's never given us a problem before, we figured she wouldn't now."

"Why didn't you bring it when you came to pick up Marina?"

The woman on the stand stumbled, "I was coming from work and didn't have it on me."

"Let me ask you this Mrs. Feucht, take a moment to compare these documents," Sarah held the new evidence next to a cascading collection of her client's evidence. "Notice the format of all of my client's letters. Would you say that they are fairly form driven?"

"I don't understand."

"They are all alike, but for dates, times, locations."

"They are."

Sarah's questions were coming more and more hastily, by design, to force the witness to answer quickly, not giver her time to think things up. "And the letter your attorney just submitted, does it seem like the others?"

"Yes."

"Come now Mrs. Feucht. David will pick up Marina on the 7th of March at 5:30pm and return her on the 9th of March by 8pm during which time he will have access to supplies which I have provided him. The purpose of this visit is that his brother will be in town and he wishes to see his niece. I will not accompany Marina on this visit. Is that not significantly different from Mr. Feucht will have his daughter from 5:30 on Friday the 16th for the entire span of his honeymoon. The purpose of this visit is so that he may have his daughter with him for his wedding. Mr. Feucht will provide supplies. Do you still stand by your answer ma'am?"

"I do."

"Is it true Mrs. Feucht, that you called the day care center pretending to be Marina's mother?"

"No I told them I was David's wife."

"Can you have children of your own Mrs. Feucht?"

"Objection your honor," opposing counsel shouted, "irrelevant."

"Counsel?" the judge questioned Sarah.

"Please your honor, it would stand to show that Mrs. Feucht had motive to abduct my client's child."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Feucht. Over ruled, please answer the question."

"It has never been confirmed."

"Have you engaged in unprotected sex?"

"Your honor," opposing counsel pleaded. "This line of questioning is unreasonable."

"I'll allow it. Please answer the question."

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"The last six years with my ex-husband and the last four months with my current husband."

"And you have never been pregnant?"

"No."

"Is it true that Ms. Chelli brought a motion against you to have her daughter's visitation with you restricted."

"It is."

"Your honor may I read from the transcripts of the family court hearing?"

"You may."

"I love David and I accept his child. Marina is a beautiful innocent victim in all this and I care for her as if she were my very own. Is that your statement Mrs. Feucht?"

"It is."

"And when you were married to Mr. Feucht, did you think of Marina as your daughter."

"Even before then."

"Even before then," Sarah repeated, very interested in the phrase. "And so you wanted Marina with you for the event. You wanted your husband's child to share that day. You wanted to become wife and mother. So once the license was signed and the I do's exchanged, the two of you took Mr. Feucht's child without the consent of Ms. Chelli, to share in not only your honeymoon, but your future. Isn't that true?"

"No."

"You wanted the child you couldn't have."

Shaking with sobs, she replied, "No."

"You had no intention of bringing the child back had the police not found you did you?"

"Your honor counsel is badgering this witness. Mrs. Feucht is not on trial," opposing counsel cried out.

"Sustained, please watch your questioning Ms. Williams."

Something inside her snapped when she turned to look at Mr. Feucht. He was no longer a tall dark and handsome man. Rather Sarah's anguish saw a casually draped feral blonde with a smirk bending his lips. There was no longer a nameless, faceless infant at hand, but a small, lost boy whose face was as familiar to Sarah as her own. She narrowed in on Mr. Feucht. "Did he take the child?"

"No."

"Were you with him when he took the child?"

"We picked her up together."

The judge's gavel went wild, but Sarah didn't hear him. "You took him. You took him far away and locked him up and intended to make him your own. Give me back the child! Give me back the child!" She screamed over and over into Mr. Feucht's face until at last the judge ordered the bailiff to restrain and remove Ms. Williams.

"You wanted my daughter?" Rona Chelli shouted. "My daughter has a mother. You'll never be her mother."

"Order in the court! Order in this court!" the judge shouted continuing to hammer his gavel. "Ms. Chelli, this case is recessed for today. You need to seek new counsel, docketing will assign you a new court date. You have ten days to acquire new counsel. In the interim Mr. Feucht, your visitation is to remain supervised by the appropriate officials. That's all." The final hammer of his gavel echoed through the court room, down the hall to the holding cell where Sarah held her shoulders rocking back and forth on the cot wondering what the hell had just happened.


	12. Chapter 11

**Please Note:** Some musical references have been removed from this chapter. The full version appears on my website a link to which appears in my profile.

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

"Jesus Christ, if I'd have know this morning you were going to throw your entire career away, I'd have at least offered you a trash bag from the supply cupboard! What were you thinking assaulting that man in court?"

From behind the balled fist she held tightly to her lips Sarah grumbled, "I didn't assault him." Staring out the window, she watched the flow of the river to their left. She couldn't help but imagine Irmscher's body being sucked down into the slate waters as he continued his line of alternating chastisements and rhetoric.

"Fine. You didn't _assault_ him, but you still know better. At least I would hope you know better. I mean," here he looked at her briefly before focusing on the road again, "you do know better, don't you?" Sarah glared at him being sure to paste the image of the river she'd cut from the passenger window around his crimson, rumpled face as she did so. "I don't get it. You went to a good school. You've been in courtrooms for us before. Is something at home preventing you from doing your job? Because I can't have that! I won't have that!" Spit littered the console of his Mercedes as he raged, "When you're representing this firm you're on my time and whatever domestic disturbances are going on must come second…no last," he corrected himself. "Last, do you understand? Now this woman, this..this..this Fonzarelli woman…"

"Chelli," Sarah corrected focusing on the river again.

"Whatever, she's going to sue if we can't win this case and let me tell you, insurance or no insurance, it's just not a good thing to have on the books. Now I got someone good to take your place, but I wonder if the damage hasn't already been done. This judge is going to be sniffing our case like a K-9 team. Not to mention this lady's husband, if his attorney is smart, will use this little break down of yours to his advantage. Not just as evidence of the instability of the case, but everywhere he can think of. He'll claim incompetence, say that she's perjured herself, want disclosure. And then we're fucked."

If she'd have cared more, she might have questioned what he meant by saying he'd gotten someone _good _to take her place. Rather she watched as they passed the sky scrapers in town and Sarah did a little window shopping, that is until his expletive caught Sarah's wandering attention. "I think I need to take a leave."

"What? Well just hold it until I get you home. It's only a few blocks."

"Not a leak, a _leave_. I think I need a leave. You said it yourself."

"I said nothing of the kind," Irmscher was obviously fluxed at her interpretation of his literally spit forth criticism.

"You did, you said I had a break down." Until now she'd slouched in the seat, her shoulders hunched, her body passive, nearly fetal. As her idea dripped down out of her head and rolled coherently off her tongue, it strengthened her like liquid steel. "A break down is a very serious thing. Given the utter magnitude of what I've done," hey, he wanted to make her sound like she was crazy, like she was incompetent, she'd work with that, "there's not a doctor in the city who wouldn't agree with me when I said I needed a leave."

"How long?" he growled.

"Don't know. I'll have to let the doctor tell me. Six weeks, six months, somewhere in between."

Any indication of rhetoric left him as his knuckles went white from clutching the steering wheel the way he had probably wanted to clutch Sarah's throat. "Six months! Are you out of your mind? Do you honestly expect to be gone for six months time and still have your job?"

"Absolutely," she told him almost cheerfully. "Under FMLA, you have to have my job made available when I get back. You wouldn't want another insurance claim, would you? Doesn't look good on the books." He'd pulled close to the curb of her building before she opened the door as widely as his mouth gaped, "I'm taking tomorrow off."

"So you'll be back…"

Sarah gathered her things from the backseat of his car, "I told you, I'm going to let the doctor tell me when to come back." After slamming the Mercedes' doors closed, Sarah walked with a triumphant smile to her building as Irmscher repeatedly yelled her name inside the car. She looked back briefly once she was inside, amused to see a purple hue coming to his cheeks.

"What's so unbelievable?" Sarah asked Laney when the woman kept muttering the word. "I mean we're talking about a man who spent three years listening to me speak articulately about goblins and beasts and tiny foxes who ride on shaggy dogs over rickety bridges in bogs of filth."

"Stench," Laney corrected. "Even so Sarah, that was back when we were graduating, when you were getting ready to get married and you were having a panic attack every other day that you were throwing your life away too early."

"Yeah, well the way Doctor Fry sees it, I'm under a lot of stress, what with my brother getting married, he figures I'm feeling like I'm letting him down and that it's causing these illusions of abandonment to resurface."

"And..."

"And," Sarah giggled, "Two weeks off. A vacation he thinks I need very badly. He wants to see me when I get back, to reevaluate me."

"All because you wigged on this guy?"

"Well, I was in jail for contempt of court."

"You're shitting me?"

"Hmpf!" Sarah stared at the phone in disbelief, "Yeah Laney, I'm making up going to jail, being frisked, finger printed and shoved into a holding cell, not to mention a permanent criminal record, all to what exactly, impress you?"

"Well you didn't say they actually took you to jail, you just said you were held in contempt."

"Yeah, and where do you think they held me? I sure as shit wasn't curled up in the judge's arms. Anyway, I gotta go. I need to tell Nettie and Irmscher I'm taking vacation."

"What are you going to do with all that time?"

Smiling, Sarah shared her plans. "I'm going to spend more time with Ashton. I'm going to get my nails done. I'm going to check out the pool in my building. I'm going to go dancing every night of the week and I'm going to..." she paused to think about the one thing she hadn't done in as long as she could remember, "I'm going to do nothing, maybe for an entire day! Gotta go, doll. Love you."

Laney tried to hide the concern in her voice, "I love you too Sar. Honest I do. So if you need anything..."

Leaning against one of the pillars in front of her office building Sarah complied with the request she knew was about to be made of her, "I'll call. I promise." After she snapped her cell closed, she spread her arms wide and spun in a circle, laughing brazenly in the noon day sun. All about her people hustled to lunch and not one of them bothered to stop and stare. Surely a handful or more of them were curious, but no one asked, no one dared ask. Perhaps she'd overreacted all those years she'd wasted locking up the wild, free woman inside her. This was far too fun. Dizziness besieged her head making her stop. Reaching back for the pillar, she'd found that she had migrated further into the walk than she'd realized and was very appreciative of the sudden stability of a pair of arms around her waist.

"You alright?"

If only this swirling sensation would leave her head maybe she could focus in on whoever was speaking to her. Perhaps this was a little less fun than she may have originally claimed. Sarah tried shaking her head, but up and down had become more of a swishing circular bob.

"Just close your eyes love, give it a minute," the man holding her cautioned as he drew her closer. She was letting him too, that's what amazed her. It had to be the vertigo. "There, there," he told her almost paternally as he stroked her back soothingly. That voice, why did she know that voice. Where did she know that voice from? Closing her eyes actually did help and she felt the planet's rotation begin to slow. Her hands clasped two forearms, pushing back firmly, her eyes fluttered open.

'Jesus,' she thought as his face began to solidify from the haze her unsteady eyes had left behind. "Excuse me," Sarah protested as she began to support her own weight some. "I mean I appreciate your help, but..."

"You're late today," he told her.

Who the hell did he think he was? It was one thing to pick up her wrap, one thing to give her some cheesy pick up sequence while they were trapped on public transportation together, but this was bordering on stalking, if not having crossed smack dab into stalking and taken a rest at the gift shop.

"I am," Sarah said, thinking it was best not to rouse him. "So if you'll excuse me, I really need to get to work."

"Sarah," he drew out her name in a way that froze her in her steps, "why won't you even give me a chance? What do I have to do to impress you?"

She stood there, dumb, not knowing how he managed to acquire her name, but somehow mesmerized by the way it had kissed his lips goodbye just then as it headed for her ears.

The Good Samaritan rose a finger to her, "I know, just one second. Don't move!" As if she could. Her jaw was gapping, she was sure of it, as she watched him jaunt over to a street vendor and purchase a half dozen plastic wrapped roses. "If I'm to win the heart of a queen, I must treat her as royalty." Falling to his knees he held up the token. Sarah accepted the flowers, still in awe. A small crowd had gathered, whispering in a uniform buzz that was completely indecipherable to her. "Fair lady, give me but one chance to tell you how I feel."

There was no time to forbid him, no moment to deny his plea, even if her lips were capable of moving. No. She watched on helplessly as he stood, put one hand in his pants pocket and began a smooth shuffle step as he encircled her.

This didn't happen to people. This happened on ridiculous video shows where thousands of people sat home and laughed at other people's misfortune at being set up for a fall like this. Still, she had to admit he looked handsome enough. His suit was the color of café au lait, the shirt beneath the jacket, blue, to match his eyes, almost perfectly. It was obvious the way he continued to glide before her, behind her, that his skill at dance had been long studied.

His hands smoothed over the lapel of his jacket as he rocked back on his heels, raising his eyebrows with his ego and closing in on her more than she might have liked under the circumstances. The gathered few had drawn the attention of others still. A few of the women around her were sniffling. Sarah would have gladly changed places with them to see if they still felt as strongly.

Her shoulders felt his hands, his head lowered close to her own as he sang of his devotion to her, the mere notion of her. Rocking her slowly with his step, the Samaritan took her swaying gently side to side. Sarah breathed in his scent, something of a cross between the popular 90's fragrance Drakkar Noir and a more timeless classic from the Calvin Klein label, mixed with the musk of the roses. No! She wasn't about to fall for this!

At the last line, he fell against the pillar, his body showing all the desperation his words had, his tone had. God dammit, she had fallen for it. He looked so harmless, helpless, hopeless and Sarah had to rescue him. As the crowd looked on pitching in their advices, she approached this man who'd done nothing more than profess his love for her. Was that such a bad thing? The feet between them seemed like miles. The toes of her charcoal Anne Klein pumps stepped between his shoulder width stance. Casting the roses aside, she fell against him, her whole length matched to his. He only smiled down at her, not pressing for her next move, not demanding. Why was he getting to her? It wasn't until she felt his arms fold lightly across her back that she arched up, on tippy toes, to kiss that perfect mouth she'd advertised to her friend days earlier.

As perfect as it had looked, it felt. He was greedy with the kiss, he let Sarah set its pace, its depth, its length. For a first kiss, with someone who was practically a stranger, it was perhaps a bit deeper and longer than was appropriate, but the crowd behind them seemed satisfied as they cheered. It was that which brought Sarah out of this man's music induced hold on her, gave her visions of the pied piper. She looked at him, her face saying that she had no idea why she'd done that. Then, without a word, she ran inside her building, boarding the first available express elevator which was graciously empty. She fell against the walls of the small box. "That does it," she sighed, her fingers wrenching in her hair, "I really am crazy."

Outside the Samaritan picked up the discarded roses, placing them in the lap of an elderly woman in a wheelchair whose daughter had stopped for the show. With a gleeful skip in his step he shuffled off, whistling a chorus of the song he'd just sung.

Finding her composure was going to take more than a brief elevator ride. For now she combed through her locks, sure that his hand print was still showing just above the nape of her neck and pulled her rumpled jacket back into place. "Nettie" she said as she crossed in front her secretary's desk and ducked into her office where she stuck her head between her knees an began breathing deeply as if she'd been having some sort of motion sickness this whole time. Sarah contemplated phoning Laney, but having to rehash the whole encounter wouldn't have done much to lessen the blush in her cheeks. This break would do her a world of good she tried to convince herself, not only would she be away from Irmscher, away from this man who had become so enamored, but she would be stress-free, what with Toby still on his honeymoon.

Sitting upright she looked out the window. It would be good not to have to look out over an entire city of carefree people wishing she could join them. No, instead she would walk among them, let the mass of drones observe her for a bit. Panic shook her as she wondered if she'd ever be able to return to life as she once knew it having had this taste of freedom. It was a chance she was willing to take as she opened her drawer to remove a handful of personal items from her desk. She hadn't thought to grab her briefcase on her way out this morning. Paging Nettie, she requested a box.

The woman came through the door, a file box in tow, nothing monstrous, with handles. Handles were good. "Sarah, what's going on?" she asked as her boss began tossing eye drops and toothpaste into the cardboard container.

A few distinctly feminine products came sailing up from the bottom drawer before Sarah popped up her head to reply. "I'm taking a leave Nettie."

"Does this have anything to do with what happened in court yesterday?"

"So you know then?"

"Everyone knows. Irmscher was hell bent on making sure everyone knew."

Sarah bit her tongue, "Well in that case, yes, my leaving has everything to do with what happened in court yesterday." She wrangled a few more things out of the credenza behind her before attacking the bookcase. "Few things in life have ever brought me true satisfaction Nettie, but walking into that pompous jackass and telling him that he'll have the pleasure of paying me to put my feet up and relax for the next two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Nettie repeated.

"To start. My doctor wants to see what taking some time off does for my stress level. If two weeks doesn't do it, I may take another six months!" Irmscher could choke on it. Plucking a few personal numbers from her Rolodex, she triumphantly closed her box. "I know you're worried about your job, but you're very well liked around here now that the whole fiasco with Irmscher has blown over. HR will assign you to someone while I'm gone. I'll put in a call to see you get someone decent. Don't worry about a thing Nettie, I'm sure as hell not going to."

She strutted passed the stunned woman, box tucked under her arm balanced on her hip. One last stop. Before she could round the corner, Nettie was at her heels. "Your laptop, don't you want your laptop."

Shaking her head, Sarah confirmed that she'd have no need for the blasted thing as she didn't intend to take so much as a business related phone call while she was off. Then she turned with an almost methodical joy and swung open the door to her boss' office. "I'm going on leave!" she announced.

"I'll have to call you back," Irmscher growled into the receiver, slamming it down, staring daggers at Sarah. "How long?"

"Two weeks, and if the doc says I need more I'll let you know." That was it. Short, concise, to the point. No lengthy expenditure of the facts, no room for discussion. She turned to leave.

"Where's your paperwork?"

She let the box fall to the floor as she swung back around on him, her long legs making steady strides until she reached his desk. Sarah bent across the glass top mahogany forcing him back in his chair. "You mean to tell me that after everything you witnessed yesterday, you need a doctor's excuse?"

"We want to have a complete file, don't we?" he asked leaning forward to claim a bit of his personal space back.

Sarah stood straight so she could unclip her phone from her waistband. "I need to speak with Dr. Fry's office," she declared when her call was answered. "Yes, this is Sarah Williams. I need a copy of my doctor's orders faxed to (312) 555-8419." There was a pause as the assistant asked to whom she should direct the fax, "Irmscher," she declared. "I.R.M.S.C.H.E.R." After another small pause, she confirmed, "It's a direct line. He'll get it. Thank you."

"Your still on the clock until I get that fax," he muttered focusing on some papers on his desk. Sarah turned to gather her box and leave. "Didn't you hear me? I just told you that you were on the clock until I get that fax!"

"It's 12:17," Sarah reminded him. "I'm going to lunch!" Confidently she headed for the elevators, waving to Nettie as she passed, ignoring the repetitive calls of 'Williams!' bellowing from her boss's office.

Fumbling with her key, Sarah unlocked her apartment door already beginning to feel more relaxed. She set down the box and kicked off her shoes. With a mighty sigh, she fell onto the couch and turned on the TV, settling in on some reality court show. "What am I doing?" she asked herself aloud. "Soap operas, I should be watching soap operas. I've always meant to see what that hype was about." Soon enough she was dozing. More like she was in that euphoric state between consciousness and the brink of sleep, when opening your eyes seems impossible but you can still see the burnt orange hue of daylight at the edges of your lashes. It was almost better than sleep. Especially since she'd been having a recurring dream the last few nights.

It was at Toby's wedding reception, she'd gone off to use the ladies room. Oddly enough, she nodded off on the commode. At first her subconscious convinced her that dreaming of sleeping would refresh her doubly so, but before long Sarah realized there was nothing restful about this dream. Outside someone was calling her name, repeatedly, slowly, like in a horror flick just before she was meant to have an ice pick shoved between her ribs. There was a woman screaming, Laney maybe, and a baby crying. She tried to undo the stall lock, but it wouldn't turn and sand was pouring in around her feet as if the whole scene were taking place inside an hourglass someone had turned over. She tried to scuttle up the sand, climbing it until she could get over the top of the stall, but even if she had been successful, the door to the washroom opened in. Surely the sand was blocking it. Each time, she gave up just as her hands cupped the edge of the stall door. Each time she awoke seconds later, sweaty and her mouth dry as stone.

'Stop thinking about it,' she told her subconscious. That's what her dad always told her when she had bad dreams. You dream about whatever you go to bed thinking about. So that meant what exactly. Had she gone to bed with a full bladder thinking about going to see a movie titled _Beach Blanket Bloodbath_? Surely she hadn't but something wanted her to keep having this dream…for six nights now. 'Clear your mind,' she told herself. 'Think about bunnies and kittens and half off shoe sales.'

Too late. Sarah felt herself slipping from her favorite stage of sleep, passing that threshold into full blown REM. No longer aware of the sun coming in through the picture window. No longer interested in who was really the father of Lizzie Spaulding's baby. No longer concerned with the fact that she might wake up with the crocheted pattern of her throw pillow embedded on her cheek. Falling, no more like being sucked into a vortex, a black background with shooting stars of white light. She felt herself trying to hold on to that more grey area, but it was being pulled opposite her with equal velocity.

"Damn it," she cried into the void. Her body jolted in her sleep. There was the sunlight, the silvery white gown, Toby in a tuxedo, that blue dress. This was it. Everyone was busily chatting about. In a few minutes she'd excuse herself, make a bee line for the arcade where she could hide away from people she didn't want to see much less talk to.

Sarah could feel the cool air blowing in the ladies room. Making the loose hairs at the back of her neck tickle her skin. She sat down on the porcelain lid of the commode and put her head into her hands. Heart was heavy with sadness and regret, thoughts of Toby, thoughts of Tim and before she could stop herself she was nodding off. Had she not had the foresight to support her skull it would have bobbed like a dashboard toy. There was that pleasant thought that double the sleep meant double the rest and quickly as it had come it was gone.

Her harmonious second slumber shattered by that eerie repetition of her name, "Saaaraaah…Saaaraaah…Saaaraaah…"

'Shake it off,' she told herself. 'It's just a dream. You can wake up whenever you want.' It wasn't true. She wanted to wake up just then, not even go through with what she knew was coming next, but despite being aware of that, she remained asleep.

The woman's scream was just as it had been the six nights previous. Full bodied, desperate, filled with fear and anguish. Not just like someone being hurt, but like someone being tortured. It wasn't her mother's shrill theatrics, not Laney's classic scream queen wail. It was something deep, low, guttural and it last nearly 30 seconds. Then it was drown out, carried away and replaced by the inconsolable cries of a child. Not a toddler, old enough to heave great labored fragments between his bouts of tears, but an infant, like Toby had been once, only not Toby's crying. Toby's crying she had remembered.

Sarah tossed on the couch. 'The sand is bound to start soon,' she thought. She anticipated its barely moist gritty texture on the tops of her feet. She would kick off her shoes as she had all the other times making it easier to climb the accumulating mound. Twisting the lock, shaking the door she'd try it all. None of it would work. Why not just accept that now and give up. Wake up. 'Damn it, wake up!' she shouted to herself.

Not having done much to wake her up physical, Sarah was surprised that the inner outburst thoroughly alerted her unconscious senses. Suddenly her dream self was more aware, more alert, more expectant and most importantly unwilling to accept her repeated fate. Sarah kicked off her shoes and ripped the seam of her gown another five inches or so, until it split just below her panty line. The sand started to cover the floor. She was up on the toilet seat before she saw the last tile disappear, her hands grabbed for the top of the stall and she was hoisting up her left knee like a third hand, pulling her closer to the door. Perched atop the stall, she was beginning to think her bright idea wasn't so bright after all. It was, for better or for worse, a long way down and an inch of sand wasn't going to provide much of a cushion.

'What would you rather face?' she asked herself, 'being buried alive by sand or taking a hard fall onto it?' Didn't seem like much of a choice really. Over she went. As she expected, she hit hard landing on her knees, managing to get her hands up in time to protect her face, but not well enough that she could avoid taking in a mouthful of sand. Sarah sat there a second, trying to be sure nothing had been broken, twisted or contorted in the fall. She spat the grains out of her mouth, then looked around to find the source of substance meant to bury her alive. It was no where. It seemed to materialize from the sealed edges of the ladies rest room, running down the walls like a fountain with a hidden source.

The door seemed like a logical escape, but after having secured her stall door so tightly, she doubted very much if she'd find that this door to her freedom was a more fruitful means of escape. Regardless, she gave it a go. Nothing. There was a tiny window, one she probably could have managed through with only minor tearing of her skin and a full shredding of her dress, but it was dream skin and a dream dress and a challenge she couldn't refuse. She tried the window which to no real surprise was locked. From the wall she ripped down a metal cup dispenser, then tucking her hand inside she swung at the window hoping to shatter the glass. No good. Her arm bounced back like a little rubber ball.

'Well you're screwed,' she heard herself answer back as she pressed her subconscious on and it wasn't so far from true. Sarah was livid. Angry with a dream. Furious with figments of her imagination determined to control her. She wouldn't allow it, she couldn't. She dragged the pink floral wingback chair from the corner of the restroom. This was after all a dream, nothing going on here was practical or logical or plausible for that matter. With strength she'd have never had in waking hours, Sarah hefted the chair and pitched it against the wall mirror which spanned the entire back splash of the five basin sink. Tinkling, shards of mirror fell to the ground around her. She shielded her eyes as soon as her hands let go of the chair.

There was that pulling sensation again. Perhaps she was waking up, but no, waking up was something entirely different, something more sudden and abrupt. This was like drifting into dream all over again. Black, seemingly endless void, that feeling of vertigo that made her shut her eyes, just as the Good Samaritan had told her to do. Wait for it to pass.

Everything around her felt dry, more to the point, everything around her felt like it was drying her out, like it was sucking the water from her body. Her throat felt raw, her eyes gluey, her skin taut, like any movement she attempted would cause it to crack and bleed. The air smelled of spice and nothing so pleasing as cinnamon or clove, but something harsh, like an onion or a hot pepper. Sand! Sand was all around her, she felt it in her hands, in her toes, along the length of her exposed leg and pressed against her bosom. Forcing her eyelids open, she stared in disbelief at the acreage of orange sand, the fields of dead, black bark trees and the maze of stone walls.

"No," they cried out, her physical self and her subconscious uniting for the first time. "I won't go back there."

Sarah turned to run, behind her a huge hill, made entirely of sand. Her legs pumped like she was taking a flight of stairs. She'd make some progress only to find herself sliding down the unsteady slope and headed back to her starting point. After a few tries, she was too exhausted to keep trying. She let the sand toss her back to the ground then sat there and cried. "I don't want to go back there."

"Coffee," Sarah announced aloud as sleep relinquished its hold on her, "and lots of it." Stumbling to the kitchen, she did her best to shake the images left behind by the figures in her mind. "Just a dream," she muttered. "Just a stupid dream left over from childhood brought on by stress." The coffee pot gurgled as she set it to brewing. Not eating all day was catching up to her. Even the thought of three day old Chinese seemed welcoming. As she set the black plastic container into the microwave she took note of the time. 9:30. "Ugh! Is that really the time." Punching in two minutes, she fell against the counter. It should have been at least midnight.

"Saaaraaah!"

Fast as a flash, she shot her eyes open. "What the hell is happening to me?" Picking up the phone, she considered calling Laney, then thought maybe her therapist, or maybe Ashton. Maybe that was the best way out of this. A nice romp in the sack always seemed to relax her. Ashton was certainly no slouch in that department. Her hands shook as she punched in the digits.

"Hey, it's Ash. Your dime, your time. Catch up with you when I can?" Quickly she hung up the phone. He did say something about being out of town after all. "That's fine. I don't need a man, any man," she emphasized as the little song and dance done in her honor returned to encore in her head, "to take me out. I make my own money. I'll spend it!"

Practically inhaling the leftovers along with four cups of coffee, she went upstairs to ready herself. By the time she came back down, her work attire had been crudely discarded in a heap and in it's place, a flashy gold skirt hung from her waist, leaving off just under halfway down her thigh where the fringes began. A halter style white vest, pinstriped gold, covered her chest, leaving her back exposed but for a low strip which held the garment to her and connected at the bottom of her ribs. To accentuate her waist a gold belly chain, medium links that circled her exposed, narrow mid-section before joining just above her left hip and hanging down. By the time she slipped on the white leather knee boots, the ones with the gold spike heels, it would have been impossible not to notice her unless you were blind, and even then it would still be tough. Of course, just to make certain, she painted on a thin line of brown around the top and lower lid of each eye, a stroke of mascara across her lashes, the tiniest hint of rose on her cheeks and across her lips a honey colored gloss that made her lips look kissed by the summer dew.

The next call she made was for a cab. To hell with Ashton, to hell with Irmscher, to hell with her damned dreams while she was at it. She didn't need any of them. The clubs weren't about to move around without Ashton to guide her to them. No one she encountered was going to expect her to flip open a laptop and defend them. No one was going to make her go somewhere she didn't want to go. A light white sweater over her shoulders, a gold purse on a long chain, no bigger than was necessary to hold ID, cash, a key and a lipstick and Sarah Williams was on her way, on her own and feeling very good about it, even if she had no real reason to.

The music filled her as she sat at the bar sipping a Cuervo Black and cola. The idea of dancing without a partner making Sarah a little more uneasy than she would have liked to admit. No matter, she was feeling better just being out of the apartment. When she was ready, she'd dance. Eventually the DJ would play some song her feet were incapable of resisting, until then she was content to sit there, listening, watching as the place began to fill up. The regulars were all clustered in their spot, around their regular tables. She was out of place. It wasn't even her night. She dropped a ten dollar bill down on the bar and started out.

In her mind she had planned a quick escape, passed the bar, out the door. No such luck. The brick wall Sarah ran headlong into wore a black cotton shirt meshing perfectly with his black leather jacket and smelled like turpentine. "Hey there, I know you're not leaving. You can't be I just got here." Muscling her back onto the dance floor, he writhed against her in time to the music. "Names Buck." His voice was like gravel chips over tar. Sharp, unanticipated and thrown at her when she least expected it. "What's your name?" he demanded, spraying her face with stale beer.

"My boyfriend was just bringing the car around. He'll be expecting me." Trying to be polite she ducked to the right and attempted passing him.

"No woman with a boyfriend gets to go out looking like this." His hands grabbed at the fringy ends of her skirt. Sarah pulled back, but it only incited him more. She felt him pawing her rear end with his hand, hot, damp, fat fingers digging into her flesh. What had she gotten herself into. Her small hands shoved with all their might against his broad chest. The spindly heels of her boots caused her topple backwards against one of the tables. Sarah sat down as if she belonged there amongst the clutter left behind while they were off dancing. Half drunk mixed beverages, coats, sweaters, keys, cigarette packs. Fortunately for her it was discouragement enough for the Neanderthal to go stomping back to the bar in search of another female he could club and drag out to the dance floor.

Still in shock, Sarah took a few deep breaths as she drummed her nails off the Formica table top. A postage stamp of green caught her eye. It seemed as if her fingers moved in slow motion as they wrapped around the cellophane coating of the pack of Marlboro cigarettes. White lettering, something Italian on a green match book. Familiar, too familiar. But he was out of town all this week. That's why she'd had to rely on Irmscher when she was in that holding cell. That was why she had to find the courage to come out here on her own. There was a business card in behind the matches. Sarah slipped them up and out of the cellophane wrap. They were Ashton's all right. What was this all about?

Her eyes surveyed the crowd, anxious to find him and have her suspicions confirmed. On the far side of the club were a couple of pillars. Against the far one, Sarah could see a petite blonde, shoulders pinned back, a lecherous grin parting her lips enough to allow her tongue to peak through as it traveled east to west across her lip. Her hips rose and fell, her hands above her head keeping her in balance. Working his way up from her ankles, admiring her body the way he had paid homage to Sarah's in the past, was the owner of the abandoned smokes. "That sonofabitch!" Sarah said as she crushed the pack of cigarettes in her hand before slamming them down.

Anger enhanced the minimal blush she'd chosen to apply to her cheeks. Chastising herself silently, Sarah admitted what she'd known from the first time she'd seen this man, that being he was too good to be true. Most men as confidently handsome as he was were. Top that off with a good job, the Mr. Manners routine, oh hell, anybody who made you breakfast the next morning was trying to make up early for something he knew he was going to do later on. She was pissed at him, but more than that she was pissed at herself for not knowing better.

Two could play this game, she wagered as she strutted out to the center of the dance floor. Her arms went over her head, hands slipping up and down her forearms as her hips began to roll in time to the more top 40 type of music they played on Thursday night's. Before long the relevance of the Pussycat's rhetoric became apparent as couples stopped moving and looked at Sarah, the men with longing and the women with hatred. A couple left the sides of their partners and pressed against the white and gold goddess. She paid them a few seconds of attention and moved on to the next.

Over the last couple of months, this place had brought something out in Sarah. She could work a dance floor with all the savvy and elegance that she had once been able to work a courtroom with. Despite the differences in the settings, there were similarities. For one she was being evaluated and along those lines, she was pleasing everyone looking on, all but her opposition. During one turn she managed to catch Ashton's eye. He'd turned to see what the fuss was about, a mixture of shock and intrigue on his face. His accompaniment for the evening pouted as she leaned against the column.

Ashton stepped forward in an attempt to share this dance with her. "Sarah, don't you have work in the morning?"

"Ashton? You can't be Ashton. He's out of town this week." She smiled at him triumphantly as she dropped low before him winding her way back up his body like a snake. "Excuse me," she said turning to the her next waiting partner. Over her shoulder she added, "I wouldn't want anyone to get the idea that I was involved with someone. No good for my reputation."

Anger and passion were such close bedfellows that the gentlemen who'd waited patiently on the sidelines benefited most obviously from Ashton's daring to speak to her. Ashton clutched her arm forcibly. Her eyes squinted. Her head cocked to the side. If he didn't know better before he grabbed her in that manner, he knew now. "Sarah, we need to talk."

"No we don't. I don't have anything to say to you."

"Maybe I have something to say."

"Maybe I don't want to hear it."

"Hey pal," that same jerk who only ten minutes earlier had two handfuls of Sarah's ass under lock and key managed to see in Ashton something ungentlemanly. Go figure. "The lady said buzz off."

Ashton was less than pleased with the interruption, "This is really none of your business."

"I make it my business to make these things my business," he declared right before he pulled back his right fist and connected it swiftly with the ridge just above Ashton's left eye. Sarah stayed long enough to see him hit the floor, then she took off, shuffling quickly out the door before her knight could expect any sort of reward.

It wasn't until she was back at the magnificent mile that she felt her eyes start to burn and the only thing that would calm them was to let the water flow. "Uh, could you just pull over here, please?" she whined.

"Ninth Street?" the cabbie asked in broken English.

Sarah was launched into full fledged sob by this point. "I know, I know. I said Michigan to Ninth, but I forgot, there's someone I have to meet at the Hancock." She handed him a $50 bill for a $10 fare. Before he could make change she'd run into the lobby of the building. She fell against one of the interior walls and wiped at her eyes. "Oh Sarah," she said to herself, "what the hell have you done now? Look at you! Look at what a fool you've made of yourself! Karen would have plenty to say about this." She pulled her sweater tighter around herself.

A few dozen deep breaths and the notion of a comfort cocktail awaiting her 96 floors above brought her tears under control. She was sure her face was a mess. As her ears began popping in the elevator, she made the decision to head straight to the ladies room before she went into the bar in hopes of making herself more presentable.

The view from the window panels in the restroom were as magnificent at night as they were during the day. Lights from five states glimmering in the darkness, seeming to offer something positive in an otherwise endless black sea. The cool water felt like it was extinguishing her face as she pressed a dampened paper towel against her stinging cheeks. Sarah had begun to regret the fashionably small purse she'd brought along. No room for concealer or powder, the things she need most. Even so, a little face wash and a new smear of lipstick made her reasonably comfortable. Thank goodness she'd inherited her mother's fair skin. When it was clean, free of tear stains, it didn't need make up to be flawless and with make up it was perfection.

"Cloud 96," she ordered as she took a seat at the bar.

For $10.75, the pretentious bitch behind the counter mixed Vodka, Cointreaut and a splash of cranberry juice, then slid it across the counter on a napkin with a wedge of lime. Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dropped a ten and a five on the counter and not thought twice about it, but given what she'd just come from in combination with her extreme distaste she had for the woman in the stiff white blouse and the crisp black vest. A distaste that grew exponentially as she watched the bartender flicking her eyes from edge of Sarah's skirt, to the neckline of her top, to the toes of her boots.

It was unlike Sarah to initiate a confrontation, but such a situation as this called for it. "All more expensive than you could afford," she confirmed when the glances went on far too long to be considered polite. She flung a $20 at the observant bartender and waited for her change. When the $9.25 was set before her with a curled lip, Sarah scooped up the bills and slid the two bits back towards the inner rim of the bar top with a half smile and a quick raise of the eyebrows.

From over her right shoulder stretched a hand. Through the thin knit of her sweater she could feel the heat of body as Sarah watched two crisp bills fall over the quarters she'd offered up. A rich, smooth voice requested, "Remy, neat." The reaction of the woman who had been content to judge her only a few seconds earlier, gladly handed over the cognac with a wide grin. "Keep the change," he insisted making the bartender's look soften as she tucked her chin and admired him from the corner of her eyes. "Long time no see," the increasingly familiar face offered as he stepped around to sit next to her.

'This is just perfect,' Sarah thought as the Good Samaritan who seemed to haunt her waking hours leaned against the bar casually. "How do you manage to wind up everywhere I am?" she asked.

"Lucky, I suppose."

"Seriously, there are laws to protect women like me from men like you."

He sipped his Remy, "Really? That grey shadow just above your cheekbone tells me I'm not the one you need protecting from."

How dare he be so perceptive? How dare he invade her emotional space that way? Sarah sat there stunned, her only cover to sip at the martini which remained in her hand by miracle alone. "Why me?" she asked him. "Of all the women in Chicago, why me?"

"Why not you?" he countered making the whole thing seem far more simple than it truly was. "You're a successful woman, a beautiful woman, a hypnotizing woman, why shouldn't a man, any man, this man, be attracted to you?" He set his perfect mouth to the rim of the crystal tumbler and drank deeply. His face turned thoughtful as he asked, "What is it you believe makes you so unworthy of being worshiped Sarah?"

The remainder of her cocktail went down in one gulp. He motioned to the bartender to bring her another round, but Sarah protested. "I really need to go," she stammered. When he continued trying to persuade her, she insisted, although not firmly, "I really need to go." He grabbed her shoulders as she stood to go. His mouth fell open to speak, but Sarah interrupted him, "What do you want from me?"

"A date. One date." It sounded like so little. Harmless frivolity. But one date left her feeling things for Ashton he had not the capability to return. He too seemed innocent enough at first, trustworthy, safe. She couldn't decide which was worse, never really saying you care, but alluding to it in all your actions, or to come outright and claim you care while acting like a full fledged maniac? Either way, the picture looked pretty grim. His eyes looked honest enough, his lips hung desperate, dripping with sincerity, his hands against her skin were tender and loving, but a heart twice turned to stone was less than apt to crumble under even the most perfect conditions.

"I can't. I...I just can't," she said a little regrettably. "Please."

His hands fell from her shoulders immediately. His intentions had never been to harm her, to frighten her. Forcing her to love him was never part of his plan, rather he expected if he could some how seem as magical to Sarah Williams as she had seemed to him, then in turn, she would be without choice but to as effortless adore him as he adored her. He was a man left with little more than an endless supply of Remy and a pocketful of good intentions. When he reached for his glass intent on emptying it to make room for another, he found the ice warmer than the air which filled his hands as she left him.

When she jabbed at the button for the ground floor in the elevator, the lights flickered briefly before going black. Ninety-six floors is a long way down. Sarah fell to the floor, her knees held tight to her chest. "What's happening?" she cried. Now a little sit down in the dark was normally no big deal, but in a box smaller than her closet Sarah grew increasingly uncomfortable quickly. "Help me!" she shouted. "Help me!"

A few seconds passed before Sarah heard the first voice. "How can we help?"

"I'd like to get out of here."

"Which way would you like to go?"

There were what, one, maybe two floors above her, what kind of ridiculous question was that to ask. A second voice made itself known when time enough had passed without having heard from the woman trapped inside the elevator. "Well which way?"

"Down," she called out. "Slowly and gently, down." The slowly and gently part was to reassure herself, especially when the elevator jolted and began to descend the shaft. Despite having entered an empty car, Sarah would have wagered there were fingers poking at her back, fluttering passed her legs.

"She chose down!" voices sang.

"Down," Others confirmed.

Still more chimed in, "Too late now."

On her feet in a flash, Sarah's tiny hands beat against the walls of the elevator. "Stop! Stop it!" Nothing changed, if anything the chanting grew louder. Now flinging herself from wall to wall, she shouted with all her might. "Stop, please!" Almost immediately the car jolted to a stop and the lights flickered to life. Four men in grey 'OTIS' jump suits greeted her.

"You alright miss?" the first asked.

The next offered, "Electrical malfunction."

"I'm...I'm f...fine." Sarah looked them over, convinced they were phony, waiting for them to transform before her.

"Good. Glad to here it," the one among them with a yellow hard hat added cheerfully. "We and the building management apologize for any inconvenience caused to you by this unfortunate incident."

Sarah's heels echoed down the long hall as she ran toward the front door, bursting through it like a hurricane and out into the street before thinking about the kind of attention running through the city streets feral and fevered would draw. Once the cool night air brought her to her senses, she slowed to a fast walk. "God," she addressed the sky, "make this stop and I'll never drink again." Chalking this all up to an over consumption of alcoholic beverage, she wagered for a return to normalcy, if anything about the last few weeks of her life could be categorized as normal.

The night air carried with it just the slightest chill, enough to make the sweater feel appreciated anyway, but it was just the welcomed refreshment Sarah needed to chase away the heat in her cheeks. Everything in her senses told her the notion brewing in her head wasn't wise, not alone, not the way she was dressed, not at this hour of the morning. She decided to walk home anyway. It was only five miles. Step after step, she attempted to convince herself she hadn't heard those voices in the elevator shaft. Each time she about had it narrowed down to a strange coincidence, the memory of some other moment would come to mind and she'd get distracted trying to justify something new, and the tidal wave that washed it all away, that dream, more like that nightmare, that recurring bit of evidence which plagued Sarah to no end.

She stopped in front of Tribune Tower. The building had always held a special interest for her. In it's lower levels were stored pieces of buildings from all over the world. When she roamed around it, trailing her fingers over fragments of rock from the Alamo, a brick out of the Great Wall of China, she felt transferred. As if by touching a block from the pyramids of Egypt she left Illinois and landed immediately in Africa, she almost believed she'd been to the Forbidden City or the Colosseum. Her favorite was the moon rock. Not only did it take her far, far away from the city, but she could leave for another world.

Stretching high above her head, she reached to caress it's porous surface. In the sky, the real thing shone like a crystal ball. What made her draw that analogy? Like a perfect circle, it almost looked larger than Earth, brighter for sure, more brilliant. She fell back against the wall, mesmerized by the glowing orb light years above her. Something struck her in the back as she slouched to avoid craning her neck so much.

"What the..." her words cut off as if a knife had been slid just passed the edge of her lips. Stooping, she took in the brick. "A doorknocker?" A tiny little face, gruff and stern looking, staring at her with irrational precision. From it's ears a hoop hung. Sarah traced it warily with her fingers, lifting the ring a half inch only to find that it slid about easily, much more easily than she had expected any piece of the wall to move. She let it fall.

"Here now. A little respect missy. I don't go about tugging on your face do I?"

Staring in disbelief, her mouth hung open. She couldn't have been seeing or hearing any of this. Beneath the knocker in beautiful script she saw two words "Labyrinth" and "Underground".

"That's not possible, not possible."

"Did you want to knock or not?"

Peeling her boot toe from the sidewalk, Sarah brought her foot crashing against the wall. "I don't want anything. I don't believe in you. You're not real." Had it been rush hour, had it been daylight, the passers by, the tourists and locals they might have thought her mad, but fortunately the only one there to find her mad, was her.

Staggering down the street, she attempted to ward it off, the memory that left her with little more than a racing heart and a couple of throbbing toes. She blamed a night of excess, although, if she were being honest, she'd have said there had been nights during which she had indulged much more. She blamed a lack of sleep, but she had slept hours and she had dreamt hours. Restless sleep then. A nameless man, an unforgettable face, a public display which had caught her off guard. Leaving her job, seeing a therapist for the first time in years, catching her, would you call Ashton a boyfriend, out on the town rather than out of town. The culmination of it all. She was beginning to feel like Scrooge explaining away Marley as a dollop of mustard.

Her hands clenched at the rail of the bridge she found herself crossing. The metal was like ice aiding in her attempt to sober up. The river danced beneath her which didn't do much to make her feel more steady, but it lulled her like a mother's arms, rocked her, making her feel more like a child. All around that area were bright white decorator lights. On the river they sparkled like the reflection of a million small stars. "Star light, star bright," she began to repeat. Tears made the tiny twilights blur before her until the water was more like liquid light. Her head grew heavy. How late was it?

Sarah turned to look up at the clock on the Wrigley Building just as it began to chime. Two she thought, three maybe. Balling up her hands, she wiped the tears out of her eyes desperate to focus on the ornate hands of the landmark. "Thirteen," she whispered. Sarah pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her palms, now in complete disregard for what the combination of white cotton and burnt mascara would mean, and ground at her eyes until they were so dry they stung. The chimes were still coming. The hands were separated by what appeared at her vantage to be two and half inches. She counted the numbers around the clock, sure she was missing something. "Thirteen."

Rain began to fall as if the sky had decided to weep in order to save Sarah the trouble. Switching her head back and forth as if she no longer recognized the city she could walk blindfolded through on her better night, she took off running. Not the sort of quick, point A to point B trot that someone late for a date made time up with. No, this was strong, knees high in the air, legs pumping like they were part horse, the sort of run meant to save your life. If anyone with interest in the matter could have caught the girl in white who streaked through the rain like lightning she'd have confirmed she was indeed running for her life or at least running from it.


	13. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:**

I apologize. Revisions had been made to this chapter and when I posted it, I actually posted the original version and not the revision. head desk, remove, repeat The edited (and grammatically correct, well punctuated) version has been inserted to replace what was released yesterday. Lyrics have still been omitted to comply with policy. A full version will be available at my site in 12 days. Thank you (and Renee ;) Thank you!)

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

By the time she arrived safely inside her apartment, Sarah was wet, and cold, and very tired. Her heart pounded frantically within her chest making her regret those numerous cups of coffee earlier. Pausing a second to catch her breath, Sarah spun on the door frantically switching every locking mechanism available as though the process would keep out whatever it was she believed was chasing her. Unfortunately, what hunted Sarah was not the type of thing which could be locked out. It knew no boundaries, no seal tight enough to keep it from reaching her. It wasn't something that surrounded her; rather, it came from within her: a monster in her mind.

To her credit, she did her level best to flee even so. First, she stripped out of her wet clothes, tearing them from the body they clung to, feeling as if she were watching herself from the outside. Then, she stepped into the shower increasing the hot water until it scorched her skin as she attempted to scrub the memories away. Yet, each time her eyes closed, she saw the face that no longer waited for nightfall to terrorize her. She fell into bed, still wet, too wearied for the rigors of drying and dressing. From the night table to her left she plucked out a bottle of sleeping pills. Every now and again she'd take a pill when nights of only a few hours napping had gotten the better of her. Tonight - this morning to be more accurate - she took two, only half caring if she ever woke up again.

Outside the rain continued to fall, pattering upon the windowpane like a lullaby until Sarah was lulled into a deep slumber. Despite the rapidly approaching sunrise the sky stayed dark, darkness that spilled into Sarah's room like a cloud, rolling in like foggy ground cover. Having left the window open while she was getting ready earlier in the evening seemed like a mistake now, but as the sleeping pills began to absorb the alcohol in her stomach, Sarah lost the ability to care. It was just a little rain after all. At most a few drops would moisten the sill as they crept in through the half-inch crack; maybe dampen the back of the overstuffed chair she would read in occasionally.

She welcomed the feeling of unconsciousness that seemed to grab at her from within the pillow-top mattress and pull her down. It was the exact escape she craved and in a faint whisper she invited the sensation to take her away. Far, far away. It would have been a perfect time for her to recall Karen's warning to be careful for what she wished for. Jolting once against the feeling of plummeting, Sarah surrendered to it. Her whole body went limp. Even her jaw slacked.

Lightning crashed right outside her window as if there had been some sort of metal rod mounted just below the glass. What lights remained on in the city at this hour flickered and died. Blackout. It was a perfect night for a phenomenon just like this one. The thunder rallied with the wind to take hold of the upper floors of the high rise and rattled them. To Sarah it felt like a cradle rocking her deeper to sleep, the wind a mother's lullaby. "Mommy," she mumbled incoherently as a cool breeze swept a few stray hairs across her forehead.

Through closed eyes she seemed to be able to see outside herself. _I've killed myself_, she thought. _Mixed pills and alcohol. I've pulled a Steve Clark and left the band with one less guitarist. And it's my own fault_, she criticized. _I wonder how long it will take someone to find me._ Sarah looked all around for her body hoping she hadn't done anything too vulgar before she accidentally killed herself. That even sounded ridiculous.

She could see the window and her chair, both running perpendicular to her. The carpet where she'd left her wet clothes. The alarm clock blending into the night's shadows. Her peripheral vision only went so far. Total scope: from headboard to her toes, from ceiling to floor. She couldn't look behind her, couldn't turn, and couldn't look down at herself. _Damn it!_ She shouted inside her own head. _I figured I'd at least get the omnipresent overview of things. I can't even die right_, Sarah sulked.

The drops against the window grew soft, trading their harsh slash against the glass for a gentle plop. Everything slowed down for her. Sarah swore she could see each drop let go of the sky and burst against the window. It wasn't omnipresence, but it was a nice effect. She guessed she would take what she could get at this point. For no reason she could imagine, she found herself craving her mother. A woman who had never really been there in any sort for her in time of trouble or otherwise, come to think of it, and Sarah wanted her nearness, her familiarity.

Something odd, or so she thought anyway, occurred to her then and with such suddenness it made her catch her breath. Why hadn't her father come for her? Was she doomed to see him as little in death as she had in life? Regret pulled the tears from her eyes. She could feel them, hot and wet against her cheeks. _Being dead wasn't much different than being alive_, she concluded. Even so, she would have appreciated one last show of countenance from her father.

Something flew passed the window. What kind of storm was this? Would things be in many shades of grey outdoors when it was over? Would Laney appear to her in a suit of tinfoil and ask her to journey to some great land with her? Great lands? _Oh, dear Lord, no!_ She'd done precisely what she'd fought so hard to avoid. How she wished her heavy legs could swing over the bed and carry her to the window where she could see where she'd landed. There was no child to fight for this time. Perhaps she'd cut through all the bullshit and wind up right at the castle where Jareth could extract his revenge through whatever method he'd cooked up this time. Or maybe he'd refuse to even see her and instead cast her into some gloomy oubliette. That was more likely.

So, she was permanently assigned to this view, this sensation for all of eternity. _I'd rather be dead_, she thought. If only she'd taken the whole bottle of pills instead of being such a conservative. Why not? It was better than lying there paralyzed as his personal plaything. Oh, how she bet he was having his laugh, watching her in one of his crystals. Kicking back in his throne, legs tossed over the arm as if he'd landed there after falling out of the sky, his black glove perching the perfect glass orb up for his best view. He'd smile wide, she imagined, bearing those uneven teeth of his, a twinkle in his eye flashing between satisfaction and victory.

Whatever it was, it passed the window again: compact, sleek, like a bullet. It blew the window open wide. Had the mention of Jareth brought him to her so quickly? No, this was nothing as awkward and cumbersome as an owl. Nothing as squat. Nothing as wide. In the time it took Sarah to make the comparative analysis, the thing had landed inside of the window. A flash of lightning revealed it to her as if it was day. It sat on the sill, looking at her with great interest, wide, yellow eyes set deep in the neatly feathered grey head of what she could only assume from the hooked beak was some sort of bird of prey.

'He's sent you to pluck out my eyes, has he?' Sarah challenged the bird who continued to witness her with intrigue. 'Go on. I'm in no position to object.'

Leaving the ledge, the bird spread its wings. A graceful hop and a swift glide and it joined Sarah in the bed. Despite the ease she'd shown only seconds earlier at the idea of being freed of her eyes, she welded them shut fiercely and braced herself. Against her forehead she felt the cold bone of a beak. Was the thing sniffing her? The voice she heard came from inside her own head. It sounded like her mother's, that is to say the pitch was her mother's, but the lilting tone in it held far too much tenderness to ever be mistaken for the woman who had walked out on her when she was too young to truly understand.

"Can you hear me?"

"Mother?" she said out loud without separating her lips.

"Open your eyes, child."

Sarah could still feel bone against her head, but the sound of her mother's voice was so vibrant that she convinced herself it had to be fingernails instead. Relaxing her eyes she let herself see before her a perfectly preened and surprisingly dry peregrine falcon. She jerked away, even though her body stayed still, her lids now more loosely closed, like sheers rather than bolted like metal panels. Her view was the same as it had been before her guest's arrival, only now of course, it included said guest. "Mother?" she called out more desperately, feeling infantile.

"Settle," the bird suggested as she took the sheet into her beak and pulled it around the exposed parts of Sarah's body. "I'm not here to harm you."

"Why are you here?"

There was a shrill cry run through her head that made her wince. "Forgive me. I cannot always find my human words when I need them. I'm here to advise you, Sarah. Your torment grows, and I know this. Yours is not the only one. Two worlds must collide in order to end the suffering."

"What two worlds?"

The falcon cocked her head in as much chastisement as a falcon can express. "My time is limited, please don't make me exhaust it with answers you already know."

Sarah's voice came through in a pout, nearly a whine, "I can't go back there. I won't. Even if I wanted to, I have no one to wish away."

"Be wise, not just now, but always. Your greatest strength is yet to be realized. You are the only hope for so many."

"What do you mean?"

The falcon looked at Sarah, sympathy in her eyes. "My time is done," she said, giving a graceful tip of her head before darting back out the window.

"Wait! Wait!" Sarah called after her. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. I can't even get out of this bed! Come back, please, come back!" She began to cry through her closed eyes. Hot tears burnt her cheeks while she wished she could crease her elbow and wipe them away with the back of a sedentary hand.

Rain began ravaging the window again, the distinct plunk making her sure it had begun to hail. This was the most unusual storm she'd ever seen hit Chicago in all her years there. That is to say if she were still in Chicago. Stranger things, after all, had happened to her. Where she was now remained somewhat of a mystery. The temperature was dropping at an alarming rate, making her wish the well-trained pigeon who'd visited her would have had enough manners to close the window when she left.

Water was teeming in through the open glass. Her chair appeared two full shades darker from the moisture; her wall had begun to ripple from the streams that raced over the ledge and down to the floor. If the power hadn't already gone out, she'd have worried more about the outlets getting wet. Of course, in all the hazards she imagined, the pool forming in her bedroom wasn't one of them. After all, liquids had some of the best physical properties of any matter, constantly striving to level itself on the surface, taking the shape of its container, easily a victim to gravity.

So it should have found its way out of the door and into her lower floor. Even there, if it continued to accumulate, it should have gone down the stairs to seek the lobby. At the minimum, the weight of it on her floor should have burst through the ceiling of the level below. Rather, it filled the twelve by eighteen-foot rectangle of which her bed was the center. If she wasn't seeing it with her own eyes, she would never have believed the flood line that crept up over her baseboard, to the underside of her outlets, and then submersing them completely. _I wonder if my bed will float_, she thought, feeling much like Alice in Wonderland.

Perhaps it was the onset of unusual circumstances that made one think in the same pomp and circumstance as a novelist under the influence, but she found herself having the most lyrical thoughts. _What if I should float out the open window and fall to the street below? Do you suppose they will wonder how a paralyzed woman hefted both her and her bed up and out of the penthouse floor of a high rise? Or if I'm fortunate, perhaps my bed will be wise enough to fly once we are outdoors. Who knows? I may fly to the moon tonight. I shall be the first to find that it is indeed made of cheese and I shall be the first to nibble off the nose of the man in the moon. Then I will grow supremely large and he will serenade me with ballads: ode to my heavenly body and the stars, so very near my eyes, how they pale in comparison to my beauty._

_How sad I'll find the Earth_, she considered. _For by then it will be very small and far away and missing me, I should think. Two fewer feet to tread upon it. My absence will probably cause the entire marble to shift on its axis. The polar ice caps will melt and the South Pole will know its first sunlight. Yes,_ Sarah concluded feeling rather satisfied, _I'm quite sure that the Earth will be lost without me. Pity. If only I had been treated better when I was there. Perhaps I would not have been so easily wooed away by the celestial Casanova. And my dear friend, Irmscher. At last I shall be able to look down upon him who has always looked so down upon me._

The pleasure taken from that last thought was short lived as the bed began to rock in the accumulated waters of the room. She would have loved to have braced herself, but her arms remained rigid at her sides, her body rolling side to side in time with her 110 thread-count, Egyptian cotton sailboat as it tried to find its partnership with the rain. _Well, I can float_, she told herself, happy with that much at least.

Furniture began to topple as the room continued to fill. She prayed that the rain would spare her rather extensive collection of boots. What good it would do her she had yet to reason. Useless legs meant useless boots. It felt almost cliché to think it, but she couldn't help wonder if she'd ever dance again, and just as it occurred to her, she heard the music. The haunting, bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-ba-bah of a classic box step. The waltz. Oh, she how she loved the waltz.

On her wedding day when she and Timothy were announced, they danced a waltz. He had such perfect form: a good strong arm, a rigid back and feet that seemed coated with ice. She found it easy to dance with him, for he had done most, if not all of the work for her, making it so that she only needed to drop herself into his grip, which she was glad to do. Step, step, step, turn. Step, step, step, turn. Step, step, step, turn. Not a box step, she reconsidered, but surely a waltz. A fine and elegant thing - Viennese, Bavarian? Step, step, step, turn.

Why did this seem so familiar? Step, step, step, turn. She was dizzy from the rocking. Her stomach felt sick. No, more like butterflies. _Nerves_, she cursed. _He's shot my nerves_. _Jareth!_ Jareth and his pale blue eyes, the ones accented by his sapphire jacket and set into that porcelain but ethereal face and crowned by a wild mane of blonde hair, almost white, almost lost against his skin, but for the smile. Step, step, step, turn.

He had held her once, hand mounted just above her waist, frame tight, her hand cupped gently in his. Step, step, step, turn. Her rich mahogany locks filled with those silver combs, making them feel very heavy as he spun her so that she couldn't fight it when her neck buckled and her head would loll back. How different he seemed in that one moment.

This, for whatever reason, reminded Sarah of dancing with him. Odd, but it was so like him. He would try to make her believe that he had killed her in the name of love. Jareth was forever cloaking his evil-doing behind a mask of some passionate, yet maniacal pursuit. Did he find that charming? Was it some how more considerate to woo your victims before ending their lives? Sarah was certain it had nothing to do with the recipient of his misguided and intense emotions. No, everything Jareth did was ultimately about Jareth: about pleasing him, appeasing him. She wondered which one her death would be.

The ceiling might as well have been lowering, as fast as she was rising up to meet it. So, this was how it would end? Trapped between her mattress and the ceiling, waiting to be covered by the rain coming in through the window opened by a bird who sounded remarkably like her mother. Two fantastical stories to tell in one lifetime, how _had_ she grown so fortunate?

As the peaks of plaster roughed her cheek, Sarah cursed the designer who said stucco was the way to go, all the rage. Her attempts to scream seemed muffled as if she had stuffed her mouth with socks. The water rose over the sides of her bed. She could feel its icy kiss against her skin. Being a side sleeper suddenly proved a very unworthy habit as she realized she was losing the last few centimeters of survival that having her nose above her lips would have afforded her.

Not once, in all of the hours that had passed since she'd fallen lifeless into bed, had Sarah thought to care if she lived. In fact, she had spent all of her last minutes preparing to die. Something deep within her was changing now as she found herself closer to that reality. Sarah had things left to accomplish. Be they small or be they great, she wasn't ready to die, and more assuredly, not for Jareth. She felt herself beginning to care about this life she'd been content to lose earlier and with it she felt strength.

Shifting roughly, Sarah managed to fall over on her back. The rough stucco scrapped her cheek, but when she tore open her eyelids, that until now she had been content to see through, she didn't see a million tiny white peaks. No. She saw a face - a pale, porcelain and perfect face with pale blue eyes, nose to nose with her, his hot breath singeing her skin. "You have no power over me!" she cried out. "You have no power over me!"

Like a rubber duck in a draining tub she spun clockwise as her seaworthy craft fell back to the ground. The window sucked out all of the moisture it had just finished letting in. Sarah landed on her floor with a jolt that seemed to spark her whole body alive. Patting at herself, she sat upright in bed. She was moist with perspiration and the sheets were just as wet. Her room was much the way she had left it, which helped her laugh it off as a dream.

Hands ground at weary eyes as they attempted to read the clock: six-thirty. _Useless pills_, she decided judging by the four-hour nap, until a waking part of her brain noticed the small red dot in the left lower corner of the display. Six-thirty…P.M. A sixteen-hour nap. "Eight hours a pill," she chuckled. "Now that's more like it." Sarah fell back against her bedding, worn out by her active imagination. She felt something jab her in the rib right where her side melded into her back. Reaching back she withdrew the object of her aggravation: a sleek grey feather with brown and black markings, the plume of the peregrine falcon.

There was a certain irony to showering away a dream about drowning, but Sarah showered nonetheless, wondering the entire time what exactly the world record for single most showers taken in a 24-hour period were. Her head was pounding like something small and fierce was trying to burst out of her skull from the inside. What possessed her to take those pills she could only guess. It was obvious that she understood very little about herself right now.

Down in the kitchen she was finding no more insight. Her stomach growled and tossed all at once, seeming opposed to even the lightest suggested nutrition, averse to even juice. She managed a two-pack of Saltines she found in the drawer next to the silverware, the one that housed take-out menus and 'To Go' packets of soy and the like, but quickly lost interest in foraging for anything more substantial.

Collapsing on the couch, she pulled the chenille throw off the back and covered herself, more for comfort than for warmth. Fumbling with the TV remote, she managed to get the damn thing to turn on. As she expected: nothing worth watching. So many parts of her were already being disagreeable so it was no shock to add her mood to the list. "Well, I've got to do something," she told herself. "If I sit here another minute considering the lunacy of what I dreamt last night, I shall make myself certifiable."

Back upstairs, deep in the closet, she rummaged for her stack of projects. Surely something needed making or mending. Concentrating on a needle as it repeatedly stabbed at the tender tips of your fingers was always a good way to occupy the mind. Her hands roamed the fabric of the dress she'd been asked to wear for her brother's wedding. No sooner did the point of the shears poke through the threads of the long side seam did she forget about most of what went on the night before.

She went on that way for some time, sewing and cutting and measuring…marking, back latching and cursing as she tore out a fresh seam. Three hours later her appetite was fully restored, and what was technically the last accoutrement to a plan (the brilliance of which was yet to be determined) she had hatched became the inspiration for an outfit she needed to rustle up for the club tonight. Neo? Oh, no! That was Ashton's haunt. Let him have it and every harlot in it. There had to be some place better, bigger, befitting of a royal guest. Sarah was giddy at the notion of just how regally she would be treated.

Dancing over the field of the half-inch, square keys, Sarah's fingers blazed: Google searches, MapQuest, She covered them all until at last she selected a new haunt, one that didn't seem like it would appeal to Ashton. It neither was dark enough nor secluded enough, but rather grand and apparent - grand and castle-like in its architecture. Part like a church, part like a prison. Even she saw the irony in trying to run away from life by running toward something reminiscent of a jail.

From what the internet told her, the club had a dark and somber past. During the Chicago Fire of 1871 it was burned, taking the lives of a few women who'd fled inside seeking shelter. When it was rebuilt in 1892, it housed the Chicago Historical Society until it moved to Lincoln Park in 1931.

It was in the summer of 1915 that an excursion steamer dubbed the _Eastland_ rolled over while partially docked. Aboard were employees of the Western Electric Company, their spouses, and their children. More than nine hundred people lost their lives, all within a few feet of the shore, most pinned beneath the massive vessel in one of the worst maritime disasters in American history. Sarah assumed that the Titanic disaster ranked above it, but likely little else. Investigations followed and raised a litany of questions about the ship's seaworthiness. As a result of the disaster many buildings in the city had been converted to mortuaries to house the dead and injured, this club among them.

A variety of other agencies called this building home in the 54 years between the departure of the Historical Society and the inception of a nightclub called the Limelight, renamed in 1989 by the current owners. Each had their own stories of tragedy.

Still, the evenly spaced cinder blocks which made up the walls were a pale soothing grey and something about it was like a cool rag against her neck. This place felt right to her. She felt like she could make it hers. Ashton could have Neo and every two-bit floozy in it was welcome to their crack at him, just so long as she didn't have to watch anymore.

Even the name of her new haunt, _Excalibur_, well represented the phase she was about to embark upon. Sarah would assume the role of Arthur, pull the sword from the stone and find her own place to be king, or Queen, as it was.

Becoming even a self-proclaimed dictator brought with it a strange cocktail of superiority which helped her to better understand why a certain memory was as full of himself as she imagined him to be. With that moment of understanding came another sort of realization, an idea that seemed to take from things she'd done innocently enough at first, things which suddenly had purpose.

She dashed about, tossing this and that on her bed: boxes, hose, a blouse, under-things, and when a nice sized pile had begun to accumulate she stripped and began layering on the garments she had chosen.

A black silk thong slid up and over her legs, settling comfortably at her hips. In sharp contrast: an off-white lace bra. A white shell covered her mid-section. Modified black riding pants clung to her legs, which made slipping into a sleek pair of $1300 Manolo Blahnik boots easy enough. They were black and almost seamless against the breeches with a chunky heel, no more than two inches high, a square toe and a commanding clack off the hard floor. A flounced white blouse hid the shell and the edges of both top pieces were tucked neatly into the waistband of the black pants. Now it was coming together nicely, very nicely indeed.

She felt authoritative, tall, lean, and indestructible. This was what it was like. It wasn't one thing - not the title or the clothes or the confidence, but the precise combination of them all. Even so, something wasn't right, Sarah thought, as she spun and tilted, assessing herself in her bedroom mirror. Something was missing, or perhaps some things were too prominent.

Her hands smoothed over her bosom as her face rumpled with vexation. There was a quick concept flash that snapped in her eyes before she disappeared into the bathroom returning with what looked like medical supplies. Sarah undid her blouse from her waistband, discarding it and the shell in one swoop over her head and pulled her arms free of her bra straps. She struggled only a moment with the clasp before sending it sailing to the hamper.

Her hands worked nimbly as they wrapped her ribs with layers of gauze, building her trim mid-section into something a bit more bulky and pronounced. When she seemed satisfied with her newly added thickness, she picked up the first of two ace bandages: three-inches in width and bearing a convenient Velcro closure. She began the wrap under her left arm, just at the point where her breasts began to jut out, and sadly, down. Once she managed that first circle, her left hand was free to help press down the fleshly lumps she was trying to restrain.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror should have shocked her, but on the contrary, she grew ever more intrigued at her quandary as it came into fruition. If she couldn't get Jareth to face her and give her the answers she sought, then she would crawl inside him and find the answers from the core out. Hands that seemed not her own continued to tuck away her femininity until the second bandage joined the first and smoothed the gap between flesh and gauze, making a uniform trunk which looked impressively manly even without garments to keep Sarah's secret.

With the shell and the blouse back in place, it was only Sarah's pretty face that betrayed her. For added security, she procured a pair of thick socks from her bureau and fashioned them into a bulge, mimicking the size and shape of the one she'd remembered from her youth, embellished in her young adulthood, and fondly recalled in her maturity. Almost school girl embarrassment crimsoned her cheeks as she shoved the lump down the front of her skin tight breeches, avoiding even her own eyes as she did so. There were some final adjustments made from outside her pants until it was settled more believably.

At her vanity she plucked her brows, mostly at the far corners of her eyes. As a base she applied some stage make-up, one of her mother's tricks of the trade when a role required a skin tone she hadn't been blessed with, and one Sarah had modified to cover the ill effects of several bad sunburns in the past.

Using several earth tone shadows and an eyebrow pencil she built slowly and precisely the beautifully arched brows that haunted her at night. The curve, the subtle trail off into the temple, the brilliant flash of gold, the liquid bronze, the warm café au lait, which made his full face glow. A bit of ruddy shading blurred down the hard lines she'd made until the face she built could have easily been her own. Just a smudge of tinted lip gloss and she was feeling like she'd managed to go from girlie girl to metro sexual male.

Drawing her hair back into a tight ponytail at the nape of her neck, Sarah silently thanked her mother for another of her tricks. She filled her hands with gel and rubbed them together briskly before applying a liberal coat which was meant to trap any strays which had escaped her reaping. A six-inch tail hung low on her back. Had she truly neglected a haircut for so long? It couldn't have been, and yet, the evidence said it was. Plucking another band from her vanity, she procured it into a tight ball.

From the closet she withdrew the pale blonde, almost white mane. Fingers from her right hand stroked the hairs which rained down from the pedestal of her left fist. She fit it snugly over her matted down locks, cleverly pinning it just behind the hair line. When she returned to her vanity, her surprise at her appearance caused her elaborate eyebrows to arch, confirming for Sarah that she had done well when she had sat down to do her make-up. With a fixative spray and a teasing comb she worked at creating Jareth's signature style, topping it off with a glitter spray she had left over from Toby's wedding.

Black leather gloves left the corner of her dressing table, rushing to cover her hands as her look settled in. She had succeeded in taking on Jareth's appearance, from the top of her platinum crown to the tip of her seal skin black boots. There was but one more piece, one final layer to make it complete. The dress which had once been designed to rivet her miles of leg and highlight the dramatic curve of her lower back was now a tapered waist coat with tails. Sarah slid her arms through the narrow openings which she'd turned up and cuffed, adding a hole to be filled by the cuff links Timothy had worn on their wedding day. The back was solid now, the front split open to reveal her elegant silk beneath. The skirt was half missing and split up the back to make the tails. When she took in her reflection, Sarah started at her toes and slowly roamed up the mirror image, fixating on the satisfied grin she'd been on the wrong end of too many times before.

Best she walked, Sarah decided in the elevator. It would give her more time to grow comfortable in his skin. If she could harness even a fraction of his power, maybe she could stop these visions which had begun to haunt her both night and day. Her legs snapped when they walked. No, no…too rigid. She experimented with different swaggers until she found one she thought summed up the King's ability to be cooling and in control, but still steely and determined all at the same time. Something quick, but purposeful, sure and steady. Mastering the stride as she made her way north on Michigan Avenue had set her upper body into a graceful swing she was pleased with, further enhanced once she remembered how straight he'd held his shoulders. And the chin, jutted out and up, her bottom lip in just the slightest hint of a pout. Observant, keen eyes narrowing in on various inanimate objects until she felt she'd mastered the glare to use on humans.

So this was what it was like to sit above the world, to hold them all as subjects to you and to believe that you were their one true king. She imagined little goblins at her feet and curled her lip in disgust at them. Taking in a teenage boy on a skateboard, who'd shouted out, "Nice costume, dude", Sarah arched a brow, but didn't say a word. Talking had only now just occurred to her. There was so much clothing and make-up and a wig could do, but there was no disguising her voice. No matter, she decided, when a couple on the street heading her way clung to the walls as she passed them, stabbing daggers with her eyes.

Jareth never needed words. He could convey anything in those eyes, in his face. She'd seen the gambit: from love to hate, and everything in-between. Once she thought she saw fear, and in the end, regret. Part of the romance in watching him was the hunger his mouth built up in her belly. Wishing she could watch it move, the soft pink ripples caressing each other as his speech sang from his lips. Wanting to be the thing that they caressed next when he was finished speaking. Sarah got lost in her ideas to the point that had that bulge she'd constructed been a real one, it would have now been quite prominent.

When she reached Ontario Street, she turned left, headed west in search of _Excalibur_. There was a good crowd formed at the doors, already beginning to sway to the industrial and alternative mix they offered on Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday nights. From across the street she observed them, as Jareth would. She imagined him in her world, curious for what the humans did inside these establishments, intrigued by the sensuality of it. Drawn to this particular spot because, as his home was, it was castle-like, layers of evenly chiseled stone. It may as well have risen up out of the Underground and settled here.

_Look at them_, she told herself, hearing his voice hissing in her head, _imbibing, carefree, and fearless. How I could ruin them. How I could disillusion them. How I could make them mine. _Her fists balled at her sides as she leaned nonchalantly against a street sign. A short, round woman with a pudgy little dog on a long leash smiled at her, but she only looked down her nose in irritation at having her concentration disturbed. Had she taken her little act too far? No, not yet.

With purpose, her legs pushed her across the street with little regard for the passing cars. Honking and screeching tires announced her arrival. A gargoyle marked each side of the entrance. Approaching one with interest, she stroked it like a pet, giving it a small glimmer of pity as she noted its sedentary state. She took the front step in tiny quick steps, keeping her back stiff, her shoulders squared. Taking in the men at the door, Sarah combined the scroll of her eyes with a nod of her head as she observed them, evaluated them. The small one knitted his brows, the larger indignantly asking, "You comin' in or what?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes on him, gracefully sidestepping him. The inside was just as regal as the outside had been filled with a mystique. The music was loud and she could feel her chest shaking with the beat. Beyond the bar was a terrific staircase. Ascending more than three stories, the Cabernet-covered steps were marked by an ornately filigreed, wrought iron rail. From the landing she felt like she could feel eyes on her, but no one was there to match them. As Jareth would have, she cleverly cocked her head side to side, taking everything in as she strode about, rich with arrogance.

The ceiling was harlequin red and black, broken up by Bavarian supports held with metal joists. In the space between the bar and the lounge, supported in the crook of three strips of curving wrought iron, lighting hung down: a large illuminated crystal ball. Sarah looked out the tops of her eyes, tipping her chin up no more than an inch. The notion that a king would tilt his head back and gawk was absurd to her. Velvet curtains kept out any remnants of daylight, any false pretense of street lights. Paneled walls made everything seem neat and symmetrical. She followed deeper inside.

A parlor to the left of the bar was set up as a sitting/smoking room with leopard skin chairs and chaises, dimly lit by candles in sconces and filled with tiny clusters of contemporary furniture organized around tables. Sauntering through the lounge formidably, she enjoyed the way they looked at her. The men were curious, fearful. The women filled with intrigue, interest. Two steps lead to two sitting areas separated from those four in the sunken portion. She took them both in one step, her eyes set on a semicircular chair, which she draped herself across.

From there she surveyed the fools as they drank and laughed, all ignorant to the power that sat among them. She sat above them now. Master of all she surveyed. On the walls were pictures of old time beauty queens and an array of nudes. She could see the balconies from which the patrons looked down at the dance floor. She could see everything, everyone.

Sarah Williams would have felt the call of the dance floor, her body unable to resist the pounding beat of heavy bass, but Jareth, the Goblin King, was ignorant of such mindlessness. He much preferred draping his legs over this chair and passing judgment on those who passed him, those who dared to catch his eye: too fat, too bald, too old, and too pathetic. Those who displayed courage enough to sit in his presence were disregarded. Striking up a conversation got you a clear shot of the back of his head. That is to say until a chestnut brunette strode into the club looking out of place, with her innocence hanging around her neck like an albatross.

She wore white, she gaped at the sights, and she trembled as she ordered her drink. She called out unheard _excuse me_'s as she followed her friends, forcing her way through the crowd. She averted her eyes from the couples in the dark corners who made each other promises they didn't intend to keep. She gasped at the women who sprawled on the chaises in poses for the men to watch. The whole time, Sarah watched the girl thinking that this was how he must have seen her when she too was just a fawn in the woods like prey, and him the hunter.

It was all about timing. Too fast and the frightened thing would run away. Too slow and it might be too late. Sarah let the girl catch her eye a time or two as she stared at her, and always, the girl broke the glance first. She waited for a song, one that was low, slow, and seductive. One that Jareth would have admired. When the music began, she swung her legs from their perch, rising as the drum beat kicked in and taking the steps in time to the music. The first verse rang out as she closed in on the girl whose heart fluttered like a caged bird.

This is exactly how Jareth had seduced her in the ballroom. He had caught her eye, walked slowly to her, pointedly. Sarah plucked the drink out of the girl's hand. Obviously shocked, she protested only a moment. Passing the drink to one of the girl's friends, Sarah pinned her around the waist and crushed the girl to her. Surely that well-placed bulge pressed into this stranger's stomach. She was like a doll in Sarah's arms, easy to sway about the floor. Even while she tried to look away, to seem uninterested, Sarah gazed at her, eyes conveying need and mouth spilling out seductive tenors of desire.

After a minute the girl was powerless to resist Sarah's stare. She grinned in satisfaction as the pools of shimmering mink returned her unspoken emotions. He really did have power and now she had a little of it too. She turned her victim left, then right, causing her to arch her back to keep time, making her feel drunk until… What is it that Sarah had always wanted from Jareth but could never seem to find? What is it she sought from that dance that she had never received? Ah, yes, she remembered now. The girl's mouth waited, as Sarah's had. Lips just a whisper apart, fluttering with an eagerness she wouldn't admit to. Her eyes flickered from Sarah's eyes to her mouth and back.

She could have laid her down on one of those chaise lounges and done any number of unspeakable things to the girl in her arms, just as Jareth, in any number of nocturnal recreations of the ballroom scene, could have easily had Sarah herself. But she hadn't asked to be taken. She hadn't asked to be ruin for any mortal man to come. She'd only craved a kiss. One kiss. But Jareth was stingy with his affections. Now she was Jareth and this was no adolescent child in her arms.

Sarah brought her mouth crashing down over the girl's. For a second she resisted, her breeding convincing her it was the right thing to do. But as the last verse of the song seemed to say the things she hadn't been able to admit on her own, she returned the kiss. Sarah held her as she had dreamed Jareth might do, the thumbs of her leather gloves cool against flushed cheeks, fingers full of her hair. She clung back, the voice in her head instructing her. '_Deepen the kiss_.' She heeded. '_Taste her_.' She heeded. '_Retreat and attack again_.' So she did.

For more than two full minutes she twisted side to side caressing every point on the girl's mouth. Sarah's tongue explored the warm, wet cavern between her teeth. She nibbled at her flesh, left her mouth to trail her neck. She could feel her pulse against the lips that ravaged her. Laughter rang in her mind, Jareth's laughter. Sarah pulled back, looking into the wide eyes of the confused fawn. Beneath that confusion lay desire, Sarah had brought it to just below the surface. An emotion the naïve girl had done her best to bury and she had unearthed it. She knew the look; she had given it herself years ago to a man dressed as she was now.

Then she knew why he hadn't kissed her, why he had shown restraint? One kiss sounded, in theory, innocent enough, but in fact it only made you crave another. If the passion was strong, it made both of you crave another. Whom was he protecting then when he saw her eyes beg the way this girl's did: himself or Sarah? What had she done?

She bowed once to the lady, once to her friends, and in a retold version of Cinderella, jaunted off into the night, cries of "Wait!" rising up behind her. She neither waited nor left behind any evidence that she had ever been.

Free from the eye line of anyone at the club, Sarah ripped the wig loose and stuffed it into the trashcan she passed. Alone on the streets her heels echoed as she ran. It made her feel as if she were being followed, which made her run faster and she reached the Michigan Avenue intersection in no time. A glove flew from each hand, finding themselves homeless in the gutters. Her fingers snapped the thin bands in her hair and dragged them loose, clumps of hair accompanying them. Blowing wild behind her, her hair whipped and snapped like a crop driving on a thoroughbred. Over the bridge, her pounding feet drove her on.

She stopped under the street lamp dwarfed by the spotlights on Wrigley Tower. Tearing free of the coat, she balled it up, prepared to throw it into the river. The cufflinks stopped her. Undoing them, Sarah tossed the coat which unraveled on its way to the water. It glided on the air, dancing down, patiently until it met its waiting partner beneath, the sparkle in the garment picking up the light and twinkling as it went off.

In Sarah's hands the links felt heavy. She looked at them as if they hadn't been part of what she wanted to believe had been the most important day of her young life, as if she'd just stolen them from a stranger. The pressure of the kiss still warm on her lips, she grew distracted. It wasn't the kiss of a strange girl she felt, not Timothy's kiss on their wedding day, but Jareth's kiss. Phantom and foreign, but she felt it nonetheless. Felt him fresh against her, listening to his own commands. '_Deepen the kiss_.' '_Taste her_.' '_Retreat and attack again_.' Impossible. Her imagination was the culprit, her own guilt, her own disgust with herself. Without hesitation, she tossed the links in after the coat. Twin _blurp_-ing sounds reached her ear as the greedy river swallowed the treasure.

Every piece she discarded freed her some. The blouse was next to go. Sarah looked down at her flattened chest. Desire to claw free of the bandages was something she needed to suppress as she trod home, defeated. Her hands mangled her hair as if the answer for her behavior lied at the root of her locks. What was she thinking? Dressing up like Jareth, going out into her world that way. That girl, that innocent girl whom she'd ruined. Perhaps she'd never come to know the truth about what happened that night. Perhaps the real Goblin King wouldn't want anything to do with her now that she had been soiled by his doppelganger. Perhaps she'd escape the real power of the Underground. For Sarah, it was too late. That power compelled her now, driving her to cross limits she'd never imagined.

Sanity is a fragile thing, she imagined. Not fragile like a caramelized sugar, hardened but easily cracked, but more like the wings of a fly, the legs of a spider. It seemed strong, impervious, but in the wrong hands it could be ripped free of the very thing dependant upon it and there was no remedy to repair the wound. Sarah felt like a wingless fly, like a legless spider as she snuck in the freight elevator of her apartment and into her penthouse. Numb fingers dialed Laney's number. There was no answer. She hadn't expected one, not at this hour. "Laney," she wept into the phone. "Help me."

When the phone rang a few minutes later, Sarah found the receiver still clutched in her hand. "What's wrong?" Laney asked, sleep still present in her slurred speech.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"I'm up. It's fine, Sarah. You can tell me."

"I said it's nothing." She sounded monotone and automated as she lied.

"I'll be right over," Laney promised. "Don't do anything. Don't even move until I get there."

"No problem," she heard Sarah sigh before the line went dead.

Laney arrived not long after, a long raincoat covering her nightgown and mismatched tennis shoes on her feet. Sarah's door was open a crack, so she walked in. "Sarah? Sarah, it's Laney."

"Over here," a voice peeped in the dark. She was still sitting in the chair, clinging to the receiver, shoulders slumped, head hung.

Kneeling before her, the tiny woman lifted Sarah's heavy head, "What the hell happened?" Her palms were wet with tears and sticky from the coat of pancake makeup on Sarah's face. "Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed when she saw Sarah's eyes. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do it. He did it. He can't come here to get me, so he came through me. He came for her."

"Her who?"

Sarah met Laney eye for eye, a vacant stare down. She hadn't anything left to lose, so she told her oldest friend the whole story. What really happened in the courtroom, the dreams, Ashton's indiscretions, making the coat, going to the club, kissing the girl. Her tears fell like a faucet had turned on behind her eyes. She never sobbed. She'd moved past that, far past.

Laney sat on the arm of the chair and pulled Sarah to her. She tried to exude the love and acceptance of a mother as she pressed Sarah's head against her chest and began stroking the knots out of her hair. "You're not crazy, baby. You're just stressed out from everything that's gone on with work and that bastard. When I see him on Monday..." Motherly instincts aside, she was still Sarah's fierce protector.

"Please don't."

"Don't what? Give him the riot act? He'll be lucky if I don't wear my pointiest shoes and kick him square in the balls!"

"What does it matter?"

"Sarah?"

"What does any of it matter, Laney?" She clung to her dear friend, begging for a reason, a remedy for what she had become. "I don't know who I am anymore. I used to. I used to know exactly what life held in store for me. I'd become a partner in the firm, work my way up to a shareholder, land a corner office, and run for judge one day. Now, I don't even know if I'll wake up tomorrow."

"Stop it!" Laney shook her by the shoulders, but Sarah's head just lolled. "You stop this right now. You are Sarah Williams and you will become those things if that's what you really want, but Sarah, I don't think that is what you want. Otherwise you wouldn't be thinking about a lifetime you thought you were done with."

Like a slot machine, Sarah's eyes registered on Laney. "I was done with it. It's not done with me. He's not done with me."

"He has no power over you, remember?"

Sarah looked at her. If only Laney had met him back in the days when he would come at her call, when she'd seen that owl perched on her sill at night, peering in at her, then maybe she could understand. "But he does. I tried to deny it, but I was wrong. I was so wrong. His power is stronger than I ever imagined. I don't think I ever really beat him. I think he let me go. Now he's decided to toy with me again. I'm a puppet."

"I entertained these wild fantasies of yours when you were younger, Sar. I bought into the man you had created to ease the pain of your parents' divorce to explain the strange stirrings we all experienced at that age, but I will not let you sit here and tell me he is controlling you. Sarah, Jareth isn't real. He's a fantasy." She hopped off the chair and went to the kitchen. "You've obviously been drinking. I'm going to make you some black coffee. Why don't you go wash your face?"

Sarah rose and disappeared upstairs. When she returned, the make-up about her eyes was still prominent. She looked like a zombie descending the steps, her eyes were lifeless. She thrust her hand out at Laney, the peregrine falcon feather in her palm. "This was in my bed when I woke up. Not a big nesting ground for falcons, is Chicago."

"They're migratory." Laney defended.

"Look at it a little harder," Sarah insisted.

Laney picked the feather up and twirled it in her fingers. "It's a feather. It's just a feather."

Sarah went to the entertainment center and pulled off a small red book. She flipped the pages with her thumb and held it open for Laney. There was a drawing of a horned amulet, a simple scroll design embossed at its peak.

"So?" Laney asked.

Precisely, Sarah positioned the feather in Laney's hand so the vane faced her. There in the barbs was woven the same delicate pattern. "Tell me again how it's all a fantasy. Please, help me understand how this isn't real."

Grabbing the book, Laney switched her eyes, blinked and switched them again. She looked at Sarah whose face was desperate for any rational explanation. Laney wished she could give her one. No words rushed to her tongue.

"You can't," Sarah pardoned her. "You can't because I've tried and I can't. I reread this book cover to cover and it ends happily each time. It never talks about what happens later."

Busily trying to rub the emblem off the feather, Laney ignored her.

"It won't come off," Sarah told her. "I tried." She put the book and feather on the coffee table at their feet and held Laney's hands. With heavy seriousness she told her, "I'm not asking you to step into my nightmare. I'm just asking you to please, take care of Toby, take care of Eldora and her daughter if I don't come back. I have a safe deposit box at the bank, and the key is in my jewelry box with my wedding rings. There are letters to explain where my money should go. The penthouse is yours, the car, Toby's. You've been my dearest friend for my entire life." Clutching her, Sarah kissed the side of Laney's face. "Thank you for that." She held her friend at arms' length before she turned to go upstairs once more.

"Where are you going?!" Laney cried out through tears.

"I'm going home. I'm going where he can find me and then I'm going to finish this."

"Sarah?" At the mention of her name, she turned on the stairs to look down at Laney. Her eyes were flooding with tears, her face distorted by disbelief. "You can't just go. You faced him alone once, and he just came back. Let me go with you."

Pointing at the red book on the table, Sarah reminded her. "I have to face him alone. Read the book. That's the way it's done."

Laney took the stairs two at a time, clutching Sarah's arm when they met together. "He can't have you," she moaned through tears. "You're mine, my friend. He's immortal. He doesn't need you. I do, damn it, I do!" Sarah looked through her. "I don't remember my life without you in it, Sar. I need you."

"I'm leaving in the morning," she replied coldly.

"Leaving for where?"

"The last place I was able to call Hoggle."

"The farm house?" It was a beautiful piece of property Sarah and Timothy had bought after they were married; a sweet old place in upstate New York, Chestertown to be exact, and eighty acres. Sarah swore she'd sell it after they split up, but she never managed to get around to it. She'd returned there only once since they split up, when her father died.

"The farm house," Sarah confirmed. "Alone."

"Let me go with you. I can watch out for you. I won't stop you from contacting him, and maybe I can help." Suddenly they were awkward teenage girls again. Sarah took Laney's hand and led her upstairs. She bent to wash her face while Laney watched her. "I'll follow you if you don't let me go, Sarah." She watched her friend pull the shell over her head and unwrap her chest and mid-section. "I'll follow you and I'll tell Toby to meet me there."

Slipping on a nightgown, Sarah did away with the boots and the riding pants she'd been wearing. She sat Laney down on the bed, and then sat beside her. A calmness she wasn't expecting swept through her. Now someone else knew it was real. Admitted it, and in confirming that, Laney had given Sarah a new strength, assured determinacy. "If you follow me, I'll call the police and demand a protection order."

"I'd never hurt you, Sarah," she said smoothing back the long strands that meet her face.

"I didn't mean it for me." Sarah went about turning down the bed. "You're welcome to stay."

Laney undid the tie on her coat and tossed it over Sarah's hamper. She crawled in under the covers. She faced her friend, her tears soaking the pillow beneath her head. "Promise me you'll come back."

"Promises are easily made and easily broken," she told her.

"Not between us. I've kept every promise I've ever made you Sarah, and you've done the same for me. If you promise then you'll have to come back."

"Then I can't promise," she admitted closing her eyes, Laney's pain too much for her to take. "He's going to hunt me until he kills me. I'd rather not be toyed with indefinitely."

"But I thought he loved you."

"Once, a long time ago, it was said that the Goblin King had fallen in love with a girl and given her certain powers. I can feel him. I guess that's my power. All these years, worlds away, and I can still feel him. I destroyed his home, brought it crumbling down in pieces around him. Would you love someone who'd done that to you?"

"I would if it was you. I would forgive you anything, Sarah, not because it's written in a book, not because it's how things must be, but because I love you, because you have forgiven me. Because once you love someone, a part of you always loves them."

"Please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"Harder! Harder for whom? You've gotten enough practice at leaving the people who love you!" Sarah's eyes switched open. "You left your father, your brother, your husband, and now you're leaving me. Are we so hard to love? Are we so difficult to live with?"

She surveyed Laney's face, keeping her eyes moving to absorb the forming tears. Her hands reached for her friend's shoulders and she pulled the tiny frame tight to her. "Loving the lot of you is the easiest thing I have ever done, easier than breathing. Do you think I meant to leave all those times? I wasn't good enough for my father. I caused too many problems for him and Karen. Lord knows I let Toby down more times than I can count, and I couldn't even give my husband his own child. They deserved much better. You deserve a better friend than someone who forgets about you for a one night stand."

"We never saw you that way."

Sarah smiled at how hard Laney fought for her. "This isn't about all of you." Laney could feel tears searing the back of her gown. "This is about me. I can't live with the way I've treated people. I've become everything I hated when I was young and positive, when I thought the world could be filled with white knights." She pressed Laney back, letting her hands caress the length of her friend's arms until she clasped her balled-up fingers. "My fantasies have finally caught up with me and I think they're pissed that I ran away from them, too. My father forgave me. Toby forgave me. Timothy forgave me. You have forgiven me. Jareth hasn't."

"He will. When he sees you, sees what you've become, how smart, how beautiful. . ."

Closing her eyes, Sarah indicated she no longer wished to hear the showers of praise. She bowed her head, pressing her lips against Laney's knuckles. "Please," she begged. "Please be quiet. I need to get some sleep if I'm to face my demons tomorrow."

"Could you not say demons?" Laney requested of her. Sarah nodded her agreement.

When Laney stretched to open her eyes, she saw Sarah, suitcase flung open at 180 degrees, saw neatly stacked jeans, folded shirts. She was making a basketball game out of packing her socks just then. "Damn," Laney said as she shook off sleep. "I was hoping last night was just a bad dream."

"Don't get me started again. I'm going. Nothing you could say can change my mind."

Laney smiled, "Even if I tell you you're being a selfish mega-bitch?"

"Even that," Sarah smiled back as she tucked some underwear into her bag. Slamming it closed, she pulled the zipper around the edge and sighed. Retrieving the leather bound miniature copy of the _Labyrinth _from her night stand, she pitched it at Laney. For morning reflexes, she managed to intervene in time to save her nose from a rough blow. "Keep this for me."

"Won't you need it?"

"I know it well enough. Hell I've had it memorized since I was…" her eyes grew distant and she chuckled nervously, "since I was fifteen. Besides, if there's a way to get me back hidden in there somewhere, I'm counting on you to find it."

"How will I know if you've . . . you know . . . gone?"

Sarah sat by Laney's knees, "I've got twelve days of vacation left. If I'm not home by then, assume I've gone. Otherwise, I'll call you the minute I get back here."

Wrapping her arms around Sarah's neck, Laney let a small sob escape. "Take care of yourself all right? Because when you get home we're going to have a lot making up to do."

Sarah shook her head, but remained silent. Any sort of acknowledgment of what was there to be done, when, and if she returned home was as good as promising she'd be back, and Sarah didn't want to start breaking promises now. "Get your fat ass out of bed and drive me to the airport."

"Fat ass? Fat ass?!" She picked up one of Sarah's bed pillows and swatted her host with it. "This ass is as tight as… Oh, to hell with it! It _is_ getting a little chunky, isn't it?" She rolled over and gave her glutes a shake with her right hand. "Fuck it all, on my way home from the airport I'm going to pick up the two sexiest men I know and spend the afternoon in bed with them pining over you."

"Two sexiest men, huh?"

"Oh, yes, Ben and Jerry. It's a guaranteed orgasm in my mouth."

"So many comments, so little time."

Laney popped out of bed, borrowing some of Sarah's clothes. A pair of Capri's and a mid-drift top fit her full length. Short could be a very useful thing at times. "Can't change your mind, then?" Sarah shook her head. "Can't go with you?"

"Absolutely not. No further than the departure terminal at O'Hare."

"I'll take what I can get," she settled, as she took Sarah's keys from her hand.


	14. Chapter 13

**Please Note:** Some racy bits have been removed from this chapter. The full version appears on my website a link to which appears in my profile.

**CHAPTER 13**

Funny how insignificant something as paramount as Earth seemed from a few thousand feet. Streets you lived on, grew up by, raised a family around, disappear. Bodies of water, ball parks, wheat fields, the only determinable acreage and even then by sheer mass. Circling, the huge Boeing rocked left and right as it lined up for the runaway. During the descent, things began to dawn a minutia that made them more familiar. Rooftops and swimming pools rose up from the landscape while street lights and commercial beacons set the grid and just as the riders began to select their individual blocks of familiarity, the blinding lights of the airport runway stole away their best efforts and replaced them with a cold, sterile reality.

Accompanied by a rugged jolt, Toby left the fantasy of his honeymoon behind him. England had been as he expected, green, peaceful, little to distract him from his bride. The weathermen spoke daily of rain, but he felt nary a drop from inside the castle room where Rowan and he spent most of their two week hibernation away from the rest of the world.

Marriage agreed with Toby, took him that final step between boy and man. While storms raged beyond the castle walls, a rather powerful force wrecked havoc within them as well. As the clouds brought with them a heavy wind which ravaged everything in its path, the areas yet to feel its wrath waited patiently, ready to embrace the wind, eager for the falling rain. Something about the energy of two fronts colliding was so much like sex. The way the aggressor stalked its submissive. The way he crashed against her with almost no warning. The thunder of two hearts. Lightning burnt a warning between them, making it all seem very illicit, forbidden, but rather than heed the warning, it only created an irresistible energy, the drawing power of which encouraged them to meet, no matter how brief the opportunity, whenever they'd had the opportunity.

Rowan reached for his hand as she caught the grin on his lips from the corner of her eyes. He'd come a long way in his arts of pleasing her since she'd first offered herself to him and for that she was grateful. Her home country was a welcomed release from the busy city she now called home. She was able to absorb the serenity of it all, breathe in a cleaner, fresher air. She felt connected to spirits of the departed, enriched by them, renewed.

Still, she'd made the choice to leave it all behind and there was no sense in pining for it now. She had, after all, brought what little she could absorb home with her. That and a fair bit more. All the plans she'd made for herself, for Toby, everything was happening right on schedule and she couldn't have been more pleased. Her new husband leaned in to kiss her cheek as they finished their drop down to the runway.

They sprang for a cab after deciding that the number of pieces of luggage they had would annoy too many people on the El. Toby fumbled with his cell phone, flipping it open and closed rapidly as one might drum their fingers or tap their foot. Rowan covered his hand with her own giving him a look that begged for patience. As though he'd been caught misbehaving, he smiled innocently and tucked the phone away.

He'd settle for staring out the window, but couldn't abandon his thoughts for why Sarah hadn't answered her phone any of the number of times he'd attempted to call her since they'd begun packing up to leave England. Even if she ignored his call, as Sarah was habit to do, rarely did she allow the cat and mouse game to go on for more than two or three consecutive plays. When they got home, he'd try her office some time when his bride wasn't about to stop him.

Almost as though she sensed what he was thinking, Rowan spoke up. "You'll wait to tell her until everyone is together, like we planned." She said it with a smile.

"But Sarah's my sister. I feel like we should tell her first."

"She's no more important to you than my sisters are to me and I'm waiting."

It occurred to Toby to make a malicious comment about how he and Sarah shared blood, they shared a father and while he was sympathetic to the fact that she felt a strong connection to the women she labeled siblings it wasn't the true sort of connection that he had with Sarah, but thought better of ending the honeymoon so quickly. He nodded his acquiescence.

Even if he would have to keep their secrets a bit longer, he still wanted to talk to his sister. Wanted to let her know that they had arrived safely. A tickle in the pit of his stomach caused him to add confirming her safety to the list. In the same moment the landing gear skidded on the runway, he'd begun getting an uneasy feeling. As if in the time he'd been gone life had changed and not in any sort of obvious way, more in the way Chicago called him home from above the clouds. He was circling all around it, but nothing seemed clear until it was so close it could have bitten him.

* * *

While Rowan showered Toby paced the floor. He'd tried the apartment, the cell, even his sister's office. Sunday was never much of a reason to keep Sarah from her duties. Each time he received her almost identical voicemail message, "Hello. You've reached Sarah Williams. I'm not currently able to take your call. Please leave your name, number and a short message at the sound of the tone and I'll be happy to return your call as soon as possible. Thank you."

"Damn," he cussed as he snapped his phone shut. "Now what?"

Jabbing at the buttons on the keypad he scrolled through his address book irritated by the fact that were God himself to descend into his living room and offer him the universe in exchange for the surname he sought, it still wouldn't have been any the more obvious to him. The first name caught him, the only way he would have ever recognized it because even as he repeated 'Cass' aloud it became no more significant. The phone screen read, 'connecting…'

"Hello?" a curious voice answered.

"Laney, it's Toby," he offered, paused, and then quickly add, "Sarah's brother," just to be sure there was no confusion.

"Hey Tobe. Didn't recognize your number." Laney's nerves switched on like a light. He'd obviously been hunting for his sister. Not that it was unheard of for Toby to give Laney a call every now and again, but it usually involved Sarah in some fashion. "How was the honeymoon?" she blurted, hoping it would distract him from his original intent.

No such luck. "Fine," he told her not willing to offer any detail, not that there was much to offer. "Have you spoken to Sarah lately?"

"Sure, sure I have."

"So she's alright?"

Laney debated the morality of the lie she was about to tell. She weighed the impact of lying to Toby against Sarah's resentment of her telling him the truth. "She's fine. She just decided to take a little vacation."

"My sister? A vacation?"

"Yeah, you know, with how busy things have been at work and planning the wedding, she decided she needed a little break."

"I'll be damned. So much for leopards not changing their spots."

"Right. I was just as shocked as you," that part wasn't a lie. A short silence followed on Toby's end of the phone. Laney thought she heard him quietly slipping through a creaky door. "Tobe?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," he practically whispered. "Any idea when she's coming back?"

She'd anticipated this call, these questions. Rehearsed her spontaneous responses all the way home from the airport, but still she found her stomach knotted and her brow damp. "She was pretty open ended about it. Very loose. Sort of whenever-I-feel-like-it."

'Good for her,' he thought, but there was still the matter of his talking to her and the sooner the better. "Do you know where she went off to?"

"She said something about going back to New York." In the second she'd said it she tried to suck the words back in. "But then she thought about something in the islands. By the time she was finished excitedly rattling off her list it included the west coast, Europe and Singapore. She was really getting into the idea of some exotic location." Again, not a total lie.

"Listen Laney, I wouldn't want to intrude on my sister's first vacation in as long as I can remember, but I really need to talk to her."

"Everything alright?" she countered, really hoping she could be of help, really hoping she could keep him from letting Sarah do what needed to be done. "I mean, if there's something I can do I'm happy to pitch in. Your sister really deserves this down time, you know?" She thought by adding 'you know' she'd kept the comment a bit more breezy, but truly, it wasn't a breezy statement, it was meant to dissuade him. Only it hadn't. It had made him feel rotten and selfish.

"It's not a big deal. I can wait until she gets home."

Then it was Laney's turn to feel rotten and selfish, "If it's important Toby, I'm sure she'd reply to one of your messages. If I hear from her I'll be sure to let her know you need to talk to her."

"Ok, well, I should get going. Lots to do before I assimilate back into a normal routine tomorrow."

"I'm sure," she agreed as a gnawing feeling tore at her gut, knowing that 'normal' was not a word that applied to the Williams'. "Good to have you back Tobe."

Something in her voice made him wish he could have seen her just then. He heard pleading eyes in the tone of her voice and a tiny shake when she called him by name made him wish he could pull her through the phone and hold her to him until she eased the worries on her mind. Toby told himself that whatever it was likely didn't involve Sarah. He wanted to believe in Laney's integrity, but he sensed something amiss. Overwhelmed by that maternal protection usually reserved for Sarah to shower on him, he smiled. "It's good to be back Laney and if you need anything," he stressed, "please, give me a call."

"Will do," she half promised. "See ya."

Before he could say bye, he heard the connection end. Toby couldn't say for certain that something was wrong, but he knew that something wasn't right and, as usual, he was being kept in the dark, kept from helping. They'd done it to him since his parents died. Treated him like a child. It was so damned frustrating. He was no child. His childhood was stolen on a dark and rainy night when a vivid imagination dreamt up gnomes and trolls and one man who seemed to rule them all to torment his nights. His childhood was ended when his parents never came home from a ten day excursion, but still they lied to protect him. Worse still, he continued to allow it.

* * *

Feeling eager and alert, Sarah Williams had pulled herself up into the Captain's chair of the cinnamon Jeep Grand Cherokee and started off. Only a tenth of the way into the 70 mile stretch of I-87 North that would take her straight into the heart of the Adirondack, she realized that she really should have slept those two hours on the plane from O'Hare to Albany. Fumbling with her cell, she found it low on battery. She knew she hadn't remembered to grab the car charger when she'd left a still weeping Laney at the airport. She only hoped she'd had the sense to pack her AC charger in her flurry to leave. Sarah powered down her Nokia 9300 hoping to save what little juice was left for any roadside emergency she might encounter and chucked it in the cup holder.

A blessing in disguise, the morning sun which kissed the clouds golden when she was in flight now struck in through her windshield cleverly finding the open sides of her Miu Miu designer sunglasses and aided in forcing her awake. She'd never actually stayed awake for this entire leg of the trip, but then again, she'd always had Timothy to pilot whatever 4x4 gas guzzler they'd rented to go scaling the mountains to their own private hideaway.

Summer's humidity polished a heavy sheen on the road making it seem wet and icy even in the heat wave that had been hitting the east coast. A few times she caught herself grow reserved behind the wheel as she lost her better sense to memories of harsh winters on this same road. "Funny," she announced to a Mayfly clinging to her windshield. "I came here to escape my ghosts."

Flipping on the radio, she hoped she'd chase away any remaining distraction. Her finger fell repeatedly against the seek button as she cursed herself for not preparing better for this trip. She'd been so unlike herself of late and this trip was beginning to prove to her just how irresponsible and thoughtless she'd become. At least she was recognizing it now. Maybe all it took was a change of scenery to get her wits about her again. Maybe she could forget that nonsense she'd told Laney about calling on Jareth and just spend a few days drifting on the lake until she craved tall buildings and crowded city streets once more, as was her nature to do rather quickly.

Timothy had always accused her of that. "We should sell that place," he told her. "You never want to go there and when we do it's for a matter of hours before you're wishing we were back here. It's a waste."

As she was prone to do, she ignored him and when they parted the farmhouse became her undisputed burden. It wasn't so bad. There were several cottages on the property where the people who cared for the property and the main house lived. They charged nominal fees and in exchange, Sarah had a retreat that competed with any fantasy which she could call on anytime with only a moments notice that the staff needed to ready the house for her.

In a bitter retaliation, right after her divorce, she'd thought maybe she would meet someone and allow him to sweep her away the way Timothy had always tried to do. Perhaps, just to spite him, she let the next one do what she never allowed him to. Her best laid plans grew into distant memories as she came to realize the execution of such stony revenge would require a man she felt capable of giving herself over to and that was a concept a corporate hard header like Sarah had become couldn't fathom.

Obviously nothing worth distracting her existed anywhere between the extremes of a radio dial. Her finger jabbed hard at the power button silencing all but the rush of wind that seeped through the cracks of both front windows. Surveying the road before her, Sarah abandoned the more juvenile idea of road games like I Spy and the Alphabet game. Familiar with the road and eager to reach its end, she didn't stand much of a chance at a successful round of the License Plate game. Although it occurred to her that she was still missing Hawaii and Idaho from a game she'd started when her parents were still together and they'd decide to drive to Yellowstone in the spring of her seventh year. It occurred to her then that trip had been just as silent as this one.

Over the years she'd come to many conclusions about her parents' relationships. Anger that they had separated leaving her a broken child with a broken heart in a broken home. That segued into a three year bout of greed when she realized how easily parents who didn't live together could be pitted against one another in the name of the child's happiness. Resentment when her mother's work kept her away for obscenely long hours. Even more resentment when her father moved on with Karen. Resentment when they'd decided to have Toby without so much as consulting her.

When she'd begun dating she figured every relationship was doomed to fail and she never much worried about not being able to replace the object of her affections since in truth her father had easily replaced the woman he "loved more than life itself" with yet another woman who proved to him that "he never really knew what love was." It was so easy to excuse your mistakes with ignorance. Until Timothy. He made her want to prove her parents wrong. Show them that there was something wrong with them because they couldn't keep it together. Not her mother and her father, not her step-mother and her father. Oh sure, they stayed married, but they were so miserably unhappy in Sarah's eyes. Maybe she needed to see them that way. Maybe she saw things they were blind to. Truth was, she'd never asked the right questions or involved herself in the family they tried to create enough to know for sure.

The ink on her divorce papers hadn't had time to dry before she was condemning herself. Just like her mother. Just like her father. Just like everyone else she knew. A failure. She wallowed in that awhile before deciding it wasn't any one person's fault, it was the institution of marriage. It doomed people to fail. It set them up to fall apart.

An evergreen sign for EXIT 25 CHESTERTOWN/HAGUE waved to her from the far right of the road. Had she really spent 70 miles circling her thoughts back to Timothy? She managed to banish Jareth, for the most part, from her active mind, but she'd really only traded one love for another. Just like her mother. Just like her father. Just like everyone else she knew. Was she really so plain? So predictable?

In her youth she'd never have conceded to being mundane, never have settled for being just like everyone else. As she allowed the mountains to swallow her up, she prayed they'd spit her back out none the worse for wear, if anything she hoped they'd help her find her identity again, the spirit that was solely hers, that made her different from everyone else she knew. Had she been paying better attention to herself she'd have known that part of that identity had already found her. The careful what you wish for Sarah was showing no care at all in what she requested.

Her head threw back as she tooled down the winding dirt road that led to he farm, as though the SUV she rode was channeling her memories in order to stay on the road. In her head she cursed the radio for not playing anything decent. Then with as much enthusiasm and energy as any seven year old on a long road trip would have she began to belt out, "She'll be coming around the mountain when she comes, when she comes. She'll be coming around the mountain when she comes, when she comes. She'll be coming around the mountain, she'll be coming around the mountain, she'll be coming around the mountain when …"

* * *

"Vacation or not," Rowan insisted as she gripped the small of her back, "I would expect she'd be able to be reached. What if there's an emergency at her job?"

Toby never questioned the attack on his sister. He never questioned why he never questioned it. Rowan's words just always seemed reasonable to him, if not reasonable, then at least not questionable. "I think she just needed to get away from things, relax. I'm sure she'll call when she's settled."

"Well when is she coming back?"

"Don't know," he admitted nonchalantly having come to terms with the idea that she just needed as much time as she needed and no window could be put on that. "A few days, a couple of weeks."

"Well I'm not waiting all that time to tell my sisters."

This was one of those unreasonable times, but still not questionable. Rather Toby, swallowed his earnest thoughts and calmly said, "If you feel like that is what you'd like to do, by all means."

"It's not, it's not at all what I wanted to do Toby. I wanted to have everyone at a lovely dinner party and make the announcement. I wanted everyone important to us to be there. I wanted…" Whatever else it was she wanted was drowned in heavy sobs.

Nestling her into his arms, Toby held his wife while she cried, "There, there, dear. It's just the hormones talking. I'll invite Laney in Sarah's place and we'll have this dinner you're so excited for. We'll swear her to secrecy and then when Sarah arrives home," it dawned on him then that Sarah may be gone too long to keep the surprise. He grew sad momentarily and then completed his statement, "well, by the time my sister gets home we might not be able to hide the fact that I'm going to be a father anymore." His hand patted at her stomach which was already beginning to mound with the son or daughter they had made without knowing some months before their actual wedding.

* * *

"No, all that's not necessary Brock. The guest house will be quite enough for just me."

The ranch hand smiled sweetly down at Sarah. "Have it your way. Char has the fridge full stocked and Dru cleaned the place ceiling to floor and back up again. Hot tubs full up. Cole'll get a horse ready for you anytime you want to ride and I'm happy to run into town for you if you need anything you don't already have."

"Thank you. I really appreciate everything."

"Shucks Sarah, we all get so excited to hear you're coming it ain't like work at all. It's something like preparing for company." His hands squeezed her shoulders, "real good company." He tipped his hat as he walked back to a palomino he had tied to the front porch of the guest house. Sarah watched him undo the knot and mount his horse. "Enjoy your stay, darlin'" He hitched his heels into the horse's underbelly a time or two and gave a quick "Yayཀ" before the animal carried him off.

Sarah waved until she couldn't see them anymore. Clutching the railing of the porch she breathed in deep. The air had a quality about it that air in Chicago lacked. It was almost nourishing the way it filled her lungs and made her feel alive. How had she managed to stay away from this place? These people who obviously cared for her a great deal? The raw feel of pine beneath her fingers only made her question it more.

She liked it here at the guest house, maybe more than back at the main house even. Liked the earthy feel of the log cabin style dormer made modern by the addition of a garden tub, a whirlpool out back and a wine chiller in the kitchen. Enough woods to make you appreciate nature with enough technology to keep you from resenting it. A perfect blend. She hadn't thought about riding, but now that Brock had mentioned it she was keen on making the time.

Sarah felt her shoulders relax. She'd thought returning home would be more horrifying than this. Rather it was anything but. Giving in to her easing muscles she let her head fall. It almost felt like someone was behind her massaging her neck. She whipped around when the sensation became to believable. Perhaps she was less relaxed than she would have liked to believe.

One last survey of the sprawling acreage before her and Sarah ducked inside to unpack. She was glad to see she'd packed her AC charger for the phone and quickly connected it. Just as quickly she disconnected the line to the house. She could walkie talkie the house if she needed anything and she very much enjoyed the anonymity her cell gave her. Should she need to call anyone back home, she could say she was anywhere and they'd be powerless to dispute her.

The few outfits she'd brought managed to fill half of one drawer in the bureau. No matter, there was a full laundry back at the main house if she stayed longer. And if she didn't, well eventually they'd give her things away to charity. She caught herself wondering how long they'd search for her before giving her up to the Underground. A week, a month, a year? Laney would be the first to try to explain. Sarah regretted leaving her with that sort of responsibility. Suddenly so much occurred to her that she hadn't considered before. The things she left behind, they'd be gone through most certainly and what would the people she left behind discern of her then? If only she'd had the foresight to better prepare.

It was almost as if she'd made up her mind she would wind up forever captive in the Underground and she had yet to do so much as call on Jareth. She was over thinking things. If anything she felt more removed from him here, as though he'd not yet realized she'd left Chicago. But if that were true than she was willingly thinking of him and her theories that he possessed her were destroyed. Think of something neutral she told herself. With that suggestion she grew quite hungry. In fact, it was more of an appetite than she'd had in weeks.

Brock had understated the treasures she found in the kitchen. Chowders, casseroles, fruits, vegetables, cheeses. More than she could eat alone, more than she could eat in the time she thought she'd stay. Pushing back those thoughts she pulled out a cylindrical container labeled 'Clam Chowder' dated only the day before she'd arrived. She ladled some into a sauce pan and began to heat it slowly. The aroma filled the tiny house in no time. Even as she flipped channels from the adjacent living space she could smell it coming to life.

"A nice wine," she suggested to herself. They'd stocked that for her too. All of her old favorites. Waterfall Chardonnay shipped in from Sheldrake Point, Seyval from Heron Hill, Indigo Blush from Torrey Ridge and a sparkling Riesling from Belhurst. She quickly passed over the Kaleidoscope Chardonnay remembering that as Timothy's favorite. Ruled out the Thirsty Owl Red Moon as not quite right for accompanying seafood and in utter rebellion chose a new blend from Buttonwood Grove. Cayuga Mist. A blend of Cayuga White, of which Sarah was enormously fond and delicate cherry flavor, or so the label promised. "I think I'll give you a try," she declared. A quick rummage in the drawers procured her a cork screw.

It surely had a pleasant bouquet. The cherries announced themselves bravely and the Cayuga White spoke out in familiarity. Emptying an ounce or two into one of the glasses she plucked down from the overhead rack Sarah examined its color. Not a true blush, but not a true white either. It had barely a hint of pink, only able to be picked out when turned just the right way in the light. Over her lips it created a radiating warmth. She tasted the sweet cherries on her tongue and the muted rosemary. Something indiscernible caused her to take a second sip. Caught up in an almost smoky flavor she abandoned the vexing flavor of her first taste and decided that it would do rather nicely.

She poured a healthy glass and bowled her chowder. She put Food Network on. Nothing like eating food and watching it at the same time, but her ravenous new appetite pleaded for the sensory overload. 11:40, the DVD player pointed out as she leaned forward for her wine. "Eh, it's 12:00 somewhere." She drank it down. It complimented the chowder well. Not being overly sweet and not altering her appreciation of the dish any. After this, she'd take a nap. She felt a heavy sleep wearing on her. Not that she found it to be too unusual. Not having slept well in far too many nights, she rather welcomed it.

A nap, then. And after her nap, she'd ask Cole to bring her a horse. A lazy mare to take her strolling through the paths in the wood or perhaps an old gelding to take her on a moderate trot through the open fields. Then a good long soak in the tub. A few more glasses of wine and maybe she'd feel brave enough to summon the demons of her past, confront them and force them to end their reign of torment upon her. "Chowder is a very empowering meal," she told the international food critic who was going on and on about curry at the moment.

* * *

Rapidly changing hormones, Toby chalked it all up to a process he decided he was never meant to understand. The woman who only moments earlier was weeping madly on his shoulder was now set up at their dining table with the phone book making call after call in order to book the perfect location at which to announce they would be starting a family in just a few short months. It hit him then as he watched her busying with the details that nothing about him, nothing about this house was prepared for fatherhood. What a terrible time for Sarah to come to her senses.

Rowan seemed the kind of woman who would easily be able to walk him through the process. She'd know just what needed bought and built. She'd tell him what needed taken out of the house or child proofed if it were to stay. His wife, the woman he had chosen above all others could do many things, but she couldn't give him the parental insight that he craved right now. He had hoped, one day, when he was on the brink of being a father himself he would sit with his own father, they'd go out on the porch where all great father son heart to heart talks took place. Over a cold beer he'd fill Toby in on the joys and perils of parenthood. Summing it all up at one point with something to the effect of, "but it's all worth it son, because there are moments like these." Then they'd embrace, a warm but manly embrace.

That particular image wasn't meant to be for well before Toby could reach this moment in his life his father had been taken from him. As had his mother. Now the moment arrived, only his sister remained to give him any sort of advise and she was missing. He wished then he had been a little more agreeable with her when she tried to mother him. Not having the fortune to conceive her own children, she'd never truly mothered anyone before, but he was young and angry, so angry that his parents were gone. Who the hell were they to leave their son before he had grown? And more so, to leave him with his elder half sibling who had done little more than to torment him at every turn?

Needless to say, he rejected her every attempt. Be it a gentle touch, a presented meal, her time, her attention, even her money, Toby turned his nose to them all. He wanted parents, mother or father and Sarah was neither. Tears dripped from his chin as he recalled how stubborn he was. Perhaps he deserved a little of the arm's length Sarah had chosen to keep him at since then? Perhaps he had created this void between them? When she got back, he'd take her out to dinner on his own. Just Toby and Sarah, like it always should have been back then, he'd start by apologizing to her in general for being such a bratty kid, then he'd pick a few of the more glorious examples to apologize for in specific.

There was the time he decided to sample her wines. When he realized he'd drunk enough to be noticeable, he took red wine vinegar from the kitchen and poured it into a $250 bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon ruining the entire bottle. More than one time he'd bring friends home from school when Sarah was working late to eat her out of house and home. None were very particular about where they left their food and drink, their dirty shoes or otherwise. Any number of stains which Sarah had to pay to have professionally removed marred her carpet and furniture. Above all the innocent mischief he managed, Toby had done one thing, one truly malicious thing, when he was young and for that he would apologize the most.

It was summer, an outrageously hot summer for Chicago. Heat index was up over 110. Sarah took Toby for a hair cut since he was getting a little shaggy around the ears. He squirmed in his seat like a fish, complaining that all the kids wore their hair longer. Sarah's stylist wasn't used to grooming teenagers, she had more affluent clients, mature, mostly women and she grew easily frustrated. Toby heard her bring out the shears, he saw her with those rows of teeth aimed at his precious golden amber locks and he went mute. Gone off to finish her errands, which would be easier without a fussy adolescent in tow, Sarah couldn't stop her and when she returned to the salon to get him, Toby's face was coated in horror. A mere quarter inch of stubble gracing his tiny skull.

Sarah collected her brother without comment. Anything she had to say would have only made it worse, so in silence they walked home. She put him to bed, as she always did and tried to kiss him goodnight. This night she succeeded. He was still partial comatose after his trauma at the salon. Running her hand over his polished dome, Sarah missed his floppy ringlets. Mist clouded her vision making her sure she'd brought home the wrong child. More for herself then for him she whispered, "It'll grow back, baby."

He seethed. Baby? He was no baby and his sister needed to figure that out. So he waited. He waited until he heard the television go mute. Waited until he heard her climb the creaky stairs. Waited another 40 minutes passed that when he was sure she'd be asleep. Then he crept so silently up those steps, armed with a pair of scissors. Not the clean fresh kind that are designed for crisp lines. They were perfectly functional for cutting hair, but mostly that had been used for wrapping and unwrapping They had been drug through tape, cut tape, held things in place to spare fingers from glue. Sure they were perfect for cutting hair, that is if you wanted it all choppy and uneven like some sort of punk rock asymmetrical statement cut.

She always slept in a ponytail, gathered low at the nape of her neck. Toby clutched the white band and worked his scissors through his sister's hair with no sort of precision whatsoever. Angle up, angle down, nipping tiny bits, shearing giant chunks. More than three-quarters through she stirred. Not enough to wake, mind you, but enough to send a frightened little boy rocketing down the steps and under the covers of his bed hoping that his thumping heart couldn't be heard outside the confines of his room.

Toby grew his hair out in a few short months and Sarah never recommended a cut again, certainly not at a salon. She let him go to the barber like his father used to take him to. In exchange he sat still and let them trip away the parts that curled up to tickle his ear and agitate his collar. Sarah said nothing to him the next morning. She only asked him to bring a book and sit quietly in the salon waiting area as she got her hair done. He never saw the result of his midnight revenge. His sister had amazing dignity, even in the most heated circumstance she showed a coolness that he envied.

He remembered that afternoon as though he'd had a picture of them on his mantel. She wore a rich java Lafayette wide leg trouser coupled with a beige bohemian tunic that melted into a dark truffle as it reached her waist line. Rouched suede ankle boots that matched the gold silk scarf she'd tied around her hair, or lack thereof. She'd managed to even up the bottom edge as best she could under the circumstances and would allow Rhonda, her stylist to make it over into something presentable.

Sitting in the chair she picked up a copy of Vogue and flipped through the pages casually while Toby watched on. He was taken with her reserve. In fact, it was the stylist who showed more disconcert than Sarah. He admired her for it. Respected the way she rose above what had been thrown her way, transcended it, made it seem natural and part of life. Even so, he had never apologized for it. Sarah kept her hair short after that, until she started growing it out for his wedding. Part of him assumed she had done it to remind him how obnoxious he truly could be.

Wiping his eyes, Toby let out a huge sigh. At least now he had a plan. Flipping open his phone, he called Sarah's cell. She didn't answer so he left a message. Something breezy that wouldn't disturb her vacation, that wouldn't say 'help me' at least not too loudly. He ended it with, "I love you sis. Hope you're having a good time."

Rowan practically flew into his lap before he had a chance to make his next call. She thrust a steno pad so close to his eyes he could barely make out the color of the ink let alone anything it may have said. His hand covered hers and moved the pad back several inches. "Sai café? You can't have sushi while you're pregnant."

"I know. I wouldn't eat sushi anyway. I checked and they have a tempura veggie dish as well as several meatless salads and soups. We're on for Thursday at seven."

"Thursday?"

Losing some of her enthusiasm she asked, "Is something wrong with Thursday?"

"It's so soon," he muttered, trailing off in the thought that Sarah would never be home by then.

"Aren't you excited to make our news public," Rowan asked, scrutinizing her husband.

Toby smiled. "More excited than there are words for," he said kissing her passionately. "Must we wait until Thursday."

"Yes, it will be so much more fun to tell everyone at once. You'll see."

Sadly he added, "Almost everyone."

"If your sister doesn't come home when she gets any one of the hundred messages you've left her then I say it only goes to speak of her selfishness."

"Selfishness?" Toby stopped her. "She arranged our entire wedding Rowan."

"And why not? She's the only family you have," Rowan huffed. "I would expect she would want to be involved in her brother's wedding, her brother who she raised. Now you're about to be a father and I would think that if I had parents left they would be concerned enough with that bit of news to end whatever frolicking they were doing to come home for one meal."

"Well she doesn't know that's why I'm asking her to call me back you know."

"Oh she'd know. If she were any kind of a blood sister, she'd know. You're a healthy young man Toby, fresh home from your honeymoon. What other news could you possibly have?"

Though he disagreed completely with Rowan's harsh analysis of his sister, it seemed so reasonable that he left it lie. "Thursday at seven. You best inform your sisters then." She sprung from his lap with as much enthusiasm as she had landed in it and went off to their bedroom to make the calls. Toby looked at his phone and thumbed through the recently called numbers. "Laney, it's Toby again. What are you doing Thursday night?"

* * *

"Thanks again Cole," Sarah expressed as she handed him the reigns of the chestnut gelding that she had spent the better part of the afternoon with. Swatting the hind quarter of the animal, she turned to leave.

"My pleasure Miss Williams," Cole smiled. She wasn't facing him, but she could hear the bright beam in his tone of voice and she knew that no fewer than six of his pearly perfect teeth were visible and clenching down on his lower lip as he tended to do when he smiled.

Looking back at him from the side of the Jeep Sarah remembered the way Timothy had always chided her about his being in love with Sarah from a distance. "No one smiles like that at someone they have only a 'working relationship' with. I'm telling you. I think one of these days he'll send me out on the ranch's wildest stallion hoping I don't come back and he can have you all to himself. She smiled broadly at the way he had teased her. Perhaps there was a portion of truth to it. After all, it was a handsome smile. When she realized he was still standing there with the horse in hand, Sarah waved.

"Good to have you here Miss Williams," he shouted tipping his hat.

Sarah approached him slowly, curious to finally find out if Timothy had been right in his accusations. "How long have you worked for my family Cole?"

His eyes met the dirt the closer she got. "Aw, I came here to work with my father when I turned eighteen ma'am."

She remembered now. Her dad had bought this place when she turned sixteen. His effort to bring the family together and more importantly to give Sarah some distraction from her mother's runs in New York and the fantasy world which had begun to consume her. Cole was the first man at the ranch under 30 which to a sixteen year old girl seemed like a stone's through from retirement. He'd come on to apprentice his father the first spring after the Williams acquired the property. He taught her how to ride. She supposed that had it been in her to notice boys at that age she might have had a crush on him were he even half as handsome as he were now.

"Nineteen years," she sighed, "and you're still calling me Miss Williams."

"You are my boss."

"I'm no one's boss," she told him and it felt good to say. "I'm just Sarah, Sarah Williams. The same little girl you taught to ride a horse, the same one you picked up and dusted off more times than I care to remember."

"I can't believe you remember that," Cole said finally looking up at her.

"Sure I remember that. You wanted to start me off on a pony, but I insisted on a horse and just as polite as anything you said, 'Whatever you want Miss Williams.' You even gave me a leg up into the saddle."

"As I recall, ma'am, you never actually made it into the saddle that day."

Sarah cocked her eyebrow, "I didn't."

"No ma'am. You kept landing in the dirt on the other side of that horse until you got so fed up with the whole thing that you stomped back to the house mumblin' something about not wanting to ride a stupid horse anyway."

Blushing, Sarah looked away. "I was a pretty impetuous girl I suppose."

"You came back the next day though. You came back, got that horse out of the barn, climbed that fence and got up on her all by your lonesome." Cole smiled that smile of his once again. "Course, you couldn't so much as get her to break a trot…at first."

"Oh no," she caught her face in her hands. "I sat up there trying every command I could think of to get that nag to go. I whispered them, I shouted them. I tugged on her reigns. Until throwing a tantrum I heaved a sigh and jolted in my seat."

"That horse took off like a bolt. I don't know how you stayed up on her."

"I grabbed the reigns for dear life and pulled myself down where I could hold her by the neck."

"I chased you two down for 200 yards or more before I could get her to stop."

When he did manage to finally stop the horse, Sarah fell off into his arms, her face stained with tears. He seemed so much more than eighteen to her then. Cole hadn't been in a hurry to get her on her feet. He didn't chastise her for being foolish only held her to him as if she weighed no more than the clothes she wore. Repeatedly he told her, "It's okay Miss Williams, you're safe now," and Sarah took great stock in those words. Safety had become a paramount concern to her at a very early age.

Sensing that she was remembering that day with a certain degree of embarrassment he interjected, "But the next summer when you came back, I taught you how to ride proper. You picked it up like a duck to the water."

"Can I confess something to you?" Cole looked at her with a hint of suspicion. "I had daddy sign me up for lessons when we got home so that by the time I didn't make an ass out of myself when I came back here."

"Here I thought I was just a good teacher," he pretended to pout.

"You were, you were," Sarah stammered lost in the memory of her father.

As if the man before her sensed her thoughts, he brought his hands up to caress her shoulders, "I'm very sorry about your father Miss Williams. He was a good man. Good to me and my father all those years. The whole staff was devastated when we lost him."

"Thank you," she said, whipping her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Believe it or not I still wish he was here sometimes, even all this time later."

Cole pulled her into his arms. She didn't argue, rather she settled into his shoulder inhaling deeply the smell of his line dried shirt, the sun heating up the cotton and giving off a faint scent of the detergent. "It's okay Miss Williams. I still miss my own father every now and again that is until I realize that he's still here in everything I do. He's part of me, part of this land. Then I just take a deep breath and tell myself, 'Cole, work ain't meant to do itself.' That's what he used to tell me."

For a moment or two Sarah let herself weigh on him listening to his words that made him seem wiser than 37, absorbing the comfort he always had seemed able to provide, letting him stroke her hair while she searched her mind for some pearl that she could use to motivate herself when she got to missing him this way. She never did find one. Not everyone grew up in a family that was close, in a family that loved and taught and nurtured. She'd accepted that along time ago, but Cole's words made her want better for what little family she had that remained. She made a promise that she would come up with something for Toby to remember her by, something more than just a bedtime story.

"You alright Sarah?" Cole asked after a time.

Realizing that her sudden dependence on his affection was probably a bit awkward for him, she stood on her own feet. The summer air that rushed in between them gave her a chill where his body had been making her aware of how much she missed having the closeness of someone to rely on. "You called me Sarah," she kidded.

"Well now, you said you weren't nobody's boss and since you're the boss and all I guess that means you know what you're talking about."

"Damn right," she announced with feigned confidence. Balancing herself by placing a hand on her waist Sarah lifted on to her tippy toes and planted a grateful kiss on his cheek. "Thank you Cole."

When her heels hit the dirt she turned to go back to her car. She never looked back at his reaction, never heard him smile, never knew that he whispered, "Anytime Sarah," into the ball of dust her tires kicked up as she headed back to the guest house.

* * *

Slamming the door behind her, Sarah sat and cried. Would she only ever want the closeness and the comfort and the consolation of a man? Would she never love anyone again? How was that fair? It wasn't. That was the single biggest difference between Chicago and New York. There in the city life was blatantly unfair, but in upstate New York, amongst so much peace and quiet you expected equality. From the time the sun kissed you good morning until Mother Nature sang you to sleep with chirping crickets at night no one dare frown or cause a frown for that matter.

Here she was, so filled with unfairness, feeling like she didn't belong anywhere, her tears marring the paradise that was this tiny town. "Enough," she decided. There was a perfectly good garden tub designed for chasing away just this kind of sorrow and she had yet to put so much as a drop of water in it. While she waited for the tub to fill she warmed a hunk of lasagna in the microwave and ate. She pulled out the bottle of Thirsty Owl Red Moon and took a generous glass to the tub with her.

Shutting off the lights, Sarah lit a candle or two. The heat of the water gave her goose bumps as she slipped inside. Evening had fallen fast as it did in the mountains. Moonlight poured in through the sky light dimming some of the golden hue of the flames. Wishing she'd set some music to play, Sarah debated getting out of the tub, but a quick look about told her that wine and candles was all a sore heart really needed to soothe itself. She washed lackadaisically drawing a soap cloth over her skin as if the trail of bubble it left behind were magic.

Sitting back she decided to soak. Sarah sipped her wine as she lie her head back into the built in rest. Thirsty Owl was not a winery she was familiar with, but she had to admit they made a full bodied wine. It felt silky on her palette, full of flavor and it's bouquet was strong, making her regret a little less that she had failed to add crystals to her bath water. She'd have Brock order down another bottle or three. Sarah let out a much needed sigh doing her best to exhale her concerns one at a time. This was the remedy she sought.

In came the fresh mountain air through her nose, straight up to her brain where it gathered some horrid thought, some tragic memory, some bit of stress or nonsense and spat it out her mouth back in the night where it could be carried to the top of the highest peak and abandoned. Why hadn't she come here sooner? Flirting with idea of sleeping in the tub, Sarah quickly reminded herself the water would get cold. Her better sense and lesser sense came to the agreement that she would continue this therapy of sorts until she felt no energy left in her but for what she needed to stand and drag her feet back to the bedroom.

An hour or more passed, Sarah's only motion the lifting of a toe to turn the knob to add more hot water to the tub. Finally she had to confess that if she possessed enough energy to drag herself back to the bedroom it would be a miracle. She struggled to her feet. On the wall hung a white fluffy robe as if she'd never been away from this cabin. Slipping it on, she managed to trap in a little of the heat from her bath, that is, what the cracked window didn't steal away. Flipping the drain switch she watched a moment as the water sucked down. It made her dizzy and she braced herself against the wall before closing her eyes.

She'd never fallen asleep standing before, but if it could be done, it could be done tonight. Her better sense spoke inside her head, "ah, ah, ah, you promised me you'd make it to the bedroom."

"Bedroom," she mumbled as she shuffled her feet down the hall. In the morning, she'd have a good laugh unable to recall how she got here, but for now, she wanted rest. Tossing back the quilted bed cover Sarah slid between the sheets, leaving her fluffy white robe in a heap on the floor. "No dreams," she bartered, "just sleep."

* * *

"Oh it's an absolute dream," one of Rowan's sisters squealed as they entered Sai Café. It was very well decorated with authentic Japanese art, sketchings of horses and a muted jade kimono. The seats were all black, the walls all white, hints of cream and gold about giving it a very distinguished look. Toby tried to hang back by the entryway while his wife and her entourage were seated. They were a few minutes early for their reservation, but the wait staff was efficiently shuffling them in anyway. Laney hadn't shown, not yet.

He'd googled directions from her place to the restaurant on North Sheffield Avenue in Lincoln Park, but Laney didn't frequent Lincoln Park. It was much more a college community than it once had been, what if she were lost. "Toby? Tobyཀ" Rowan called from the table where she'd been placed between her guests and next to an empty chair. Her shrill command was enough to draw him over.

No sooner had his backside touched the black enamel of his chair, did he see Laney come through the door. Her hair had been pinned up with two chopsticks and she wore a snug fitting red dress emblazed in a gold and black dragon pattern. Even the hostess who brought her to the table marveled over it. Toby stood when they brought her to the table ignorant to the way the other women looked at her with disgust. "You look great," he smiled, taking her hand and kissing her cheek.

"I thought it was sort of fun," she mused back. "Hello…everyone," she recovered from having forgotten all of their names, but Rowan's with a catch all.

The only open seat was across the table from Rowan, she got up to head for it, but was quickly offered the seat next to Toby in lieu of breaking the sisters apart. "Thank you," Toby told his non-sibling-in-law.

"Welcome to Sai Café," their waiter said. "My name is Yan and I will be happy to take your order, please."

"We'll all start with the clear soup and the cucumber salad," Rowan announced with no prior discussion with anyone at the table. "I would like the Edamame and the Vegetable Tempura please."

"To drink?" Yan asked.

"Green tea, but do bring a round of saki for my guests. We're celebrating."

Yan went around the table taking the orders for Sashimi and Dragon Maki, Ten Don and Yose-Nabe. The entire time Laney sat trying to make sense of the menu. Toby piped up when the water came by, he indicated to both he and Laney, "We'll have the Chilean Sea Bass and we'll split an order of the Gyo-Za." Handing back the menus, he leaned in to tell Laney, "It's the safest thing on the menu, trust me."

"Thanks," she sighed with relief.

Bowing to his guests, Yan promised to return with drinks and headed to the kitchen already beginning to call out the order before he'd left the dining room.

Laney sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap doing her best to not make any direct contact with any of the pairs of scrutinizing eyes being laid upon her. Toby had asked her to come in Sarah's absence and she was here for him. To hell with anyone else and any of their judgments. Beneath the crisp white cloth that covered the table Toby patted the back of her right hand. She smiled and tried to appear at ease, but she doubted she was fooling anyone.

True to his word, Yan arrived with a tray of tea, water and shot glass of saki. When everyone had been served, Rowan stood. She dragged Toby up next to her. "We want to make an announcement," she began. Everyone grew attentive. In her right hand she raised her cup of green tea while her left arm pulled her blouse tight around the bulge already showing at her middle. "Toby and I are going to have a baby." Everyone seemed to forget about the drinks as they clamored around her asking questions about due dates and how she was feeling. Everyone but Laney who quickly downed her shot. Toby glanced over at her with a half smile and a raised eyebrow and nudged his glass in her direction. She downed his too with a subtle nod of appreciation.

* * *

"Pregnant?" Sarah repeated.

"Yes, pregnant" Laney confirmed. "That's why Toby's been trying to get in touch with you."

"Jesus Christ, pregnant. Pregnant?"

"Say it as many times as you want, it's not changing."

"How far along?"

"Twenty-two weeks, whatever that means. She explained the whole calculation process over sushi, if you can imagine, but I don't get it. She's twenty-two weeks along, entering her twenty-third week, but they add two weeks and, regardless she's due in November."

Sarah paced. She'd been so busy enjoy the horses and the bubble baths and the wine these last few days that she'd not even bothered to check her messages and now that she had, she surely wished she hadn't. "They were gone a couple of weeksཀ"

"They obviously got pregnant before the wedding Sarah. You don't just swell up overnight." Laney didn't much care for the why-didn't-you-do-something-to-stop-this attitude she was getting through the phone.

"Sonofabitchཀ I knew she had to trick him into marrying her. I knew itཀ"

"He's happy, Sar. Toby's happy about it. I mean I don't think he's happy about her chirpy little friends who insisted on every detail shy of the actual conception, but generally I think he wants to be a dad, and I know he wants to talk to you."

Sarah stayed silent a moment, wondering why he'd want her when she had been such a terrible parental figure to him in the past. "What good is my calling him going to do? Say I don't come back from here? What's that going to help?"

"You're not coming back?"

"I don't know yet. I haven't tried to contact him yet."

"Jareth?"

"No, the pope. Of course Jareth."

Laney asked hesitantly, "Has he contacted you?"

"No. I haven't heard a voice, had a dream, done something insane since I've been here. I have to admit, I'm not sure I should tempt fate."

"Maybe you just needed a break, maybe everything will be fine if you come home now."

"I don't know," Sarah admitted weakly, "Maybe he just hasn't found me here yet."

"And when he does, where will you run then? How often will you pick up and go? How many times will you leave your brother to wonder if you're coming back?"

Sounding almost forlorn, Sarah admitted, "He'll have his own family to worry about soon."

"You're still his family. Damn it, every time you do this, every time. Just because someone new comes into someone else's life Sarah they do not stop loving youཀ Toby needs his sister. I need my friend, and above all, you cannot run away from your problems. They find you, they always do. What the hell happened to the at girl that had the enormous set of brass balls when she was leaving for the airport?"

"She came here. She found sanity. She doesn't want to stir things up."

"And to hell with the shit she's stirring up for everyone else?"

"What am I stirring up?" Sarah shouted, a little more than resentful that Laney wasn't taking into consideration that only a few days ago she'd been knee deep in a break down.

Laney spat back at her like an angry cat, "How about I didn't ask for a little brother? How about Toby didn't ask to go through life alone? How about this baby needs _some_ sort of positive influence since everyone associated with that sister-in-law of yours is wacko?"

"Oh and I'm so normal?" Sarah interjected.

"Fuck this," Laney said rather simply, "I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to feed into the whole poor Sarah, the world is so unfair to her bullshit you seem to cycle through every twenty years. Get over itཀ Look it in the eye and tell it to piss off or sit by and let it rule your life, I don't care anymore, but don't expect me to be you Sarah. Don't expect me to pick up the pieces and keep it together while you're too busy. I'm not up to it. You're not the only one with too much on your plateཀ"

Cell phones had pretty much eliminated the drama of a really good hang up. You couldn't hear that telltale slam of receiver against cradle, but you knew that it was what happened. You guessed that the person whose voice you were only all too aware of just seconds ago was now depressing a red button or snapping closed a cellular phone with as much anger as such a gentle action could afford. What's worse, you knew you deserved it.

Without even trying Sarah was managing to distance herself from everyone she cared about. All for the best, when she considered Laney's last out burst. "Look it in the eye and tell it to piss off or sit by and let it rule your life…" She had to make that decision now, she always needed to, but it seemed like there was nothing else to distract her from it now. Well maybe one thing.

* * *

It felt good to hear a voice that wanted her, a soft, gentle, welcoming tone that didn't threaten or chastise. "How ya doin' Tobe?"

"I'm fine, fine. More importantly, how are you?"

"You know. Just lying around catching up some reading."

"That's great Sarah. I'm glad you're finally taking some time for yourself."

"Yeah, I guess." Silence followed, both of them trying to believe Sarah's sincerity. "So I hear you've got some big news for me."

"I told Laney not to say anything to you," he said disappointed. "Oh well, never mind, cat's out of the bag now. I'm gonna be a daddy sis. Can you get over that?"

"Just do right by him Tobe. Don't be like our father, don't be like your mother, for God's sake don't be like me. Do right by him."

"Mom and dad weren't so bad," she noticed right away that Toby hadn't mentioned her. "And you were great. I don't think I ever told you that, but I gave you a fair bit of trouble when you had to take responsibility for me and you took it all in such stride. I used to think you were just unflappable, but I realize now that you were being patient with me, letting me find my own way. I see that now."

Sarah choked back tears, "Is that what I did?"

"Come on sis, you know you gave me a lot of space when I was a kid."

"Yeah well, what do I know about parenting, right?"

He hadn't meant to strike a nerve, but on this topic it was nearly impossible not to. "So what do you want a niece or a nephew?"

"Don't see as I have much say in it."

"Well, no, but we all have our hopes."

"I just hope he's healthy and you're happy."

Toby jumped on her, "Ah haཀ You said _he_."

"I guess I did." Sarah sat there her cell phone collecting the tears that rolled freely down her cheek, reflecting on what it had been like to have this little baby boy in her arms. Even as a grown man she still saw him as so young and defenseless, maybe she didn't treat him that way, but he was and always would be her little brother. She hoped he would do better with his, break the Williams family cycle of removed parenting and emotional neglect.

"When you coming home Sar?" Toby asked after the prolonged period of dead air.

"Don't know kid."

"Kid?" he asked. "I haven't heard you call me kid since I was twelve."

"Yeah well, enjoy the flashback."

"Sarah, I really want you to be here when the baby comes. I need my big sister."

'That's the last thing you need,' she thought.

"You know I'm gonna need advice on how to hold him and feed him and get him to sleep. I'll need help with picking a name. I'd sort of like to name him after dad. What do you think?"

Lost in reverie, Sarah's reply was almost mechanical. "Give him his own name. What until you look at him, see what comes to you, then name him."

"Great advice, sis. See this is just the kind of stuff I'm talking about."

"November is a long time from now Toby."

"I know," he hemmed and hawed, "but, well, stuff comes up. I worry about things that haven't happened yet and I worry about things I don't even know to expect. I'd like to have someone to talk to."

"You've got Rowan…and Laney," she added like it as an afterthought.

As sincerely as any Hallmark card Toby replied, "But I want you."

'Damnit,' Sarah cursed to herself. Why'd he have to say that? Why'd he have to let her know he really cared. "Look Toby, I need some time to relax, if I can, I'll come home."

"If?" he asked frantic.

"If I can come home before the baby gets here."

"Well can I call you?"

"You can try." Sarah paused, but Toby was lost for a response. "I gotta go Tobe. I love you."

That sole admission shocked him more than anything else. He hadn't heard her tell him she loved him, at least not with that much conviction in a long time. "I love you too Sarah," he replied trying to match her sentiment. He tried to say more, tried to add a 'take care' or something to the effect, but it was too late. Staring at the phone in his hand he tried desperately to make sense of what had just happen and hoped desperately that his sister heard his sentiment because a sickening feeling that seemed to chill him from within suggested it might be the last thing he got to say to her.

* * *

Thirsty Owl. She read the label over and over again. On the floor in front of the fireplace, in the hot tub, horizontal with her head on the pillow. Thirsty Owl. Until now the connection didn't seem near as obvious as it did in this moment. A brand new blend, more tempting and savory than any of the other dozen wines in the cabinet. Brock did as he was instructed to do and brought her back a case of the rich red blend. For almost two weeks now she'd holed up in the cabin, ignoring calls from her staff, ignoring Cole pounding on the door, she nibbled at food, but mostly she drank.

Red Moon. Not so true, in fact the moon was porcelain white in a navy sky littered with tiny silver specks. Sarah threw open the French doors. "Alright then Jareth, so you found me here too," she shouted into the night. "Only it took me a little longer to pick up on it." Surveying the bottle in her hand, she abandoned the glass, barely taking notice of it crashing at her feet and began suckling from the bottle like a new born calf at its mother. "You win. I've lost my job, my brother, my only real friend. Lost it all. You win. Are you happy? Is this what you wanted?" Shaking hands smoothed back her frazzled hair. "Come on Jareth, have a drink?" She poured a little wine onto the back porch. "Can't we talk this over."

When no one responded, Sarah pulled the collar of her robe tighter around her and went back inside. The couch welcomed her as she fell, seemed to hold her with comfort. "Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be," she began. "Oh wait, I've got nothing you want." Her hand patted at her barren belly. "Alright, alright, look if you come to me I'll give you my brother's kid. He thinks he wants it, but he doesn't. Trust me he doesn't." Rambling on as if Jareth were sitting in the seat across from her, Sarah continued, "and that witch he's married to doesn't deserve it. So yeah, if you come talk to me, I'll give you my brother's kid. Of course you have to wait a few months, but what's a few months to someone who understands the real meaning of forever right? Right?"

The night wind blew roughly for such a calm night and it frightened Sarah some. She didn't really know what she was saying. She only really half meant to call him in the first place. What had been fascination had turned to fear. Putting the bottle on the table, Sarah sat back, kicking up her feet. "See that. I knew you were chicken. I called you and you didn't show up. Coward. I wish you were here," she mumbled, barely awake. "I wish you were here...so I could tell you just what I think of you."

* * *

Blissful in the oblivion of sleep, Sarah felt a dream washing over her. No water, no sand, just vast open air. Huge clouds, kissed by a sun the rest of the world had yet to see, it was beautiful, but had she had access to a time machine, had she been able to fast forward this dream she'd not have been so content. In hindsight, she would rather have faced a very real and very angry Jareth than the painful reverie she was about to relive.

Omnipresence couldn't have been more lovely than it was from this vantage point. Not quite God quality, but decidedly super-human. Like flying without the plane, Sarah floated above the clouds, if it hadn't been for her racing heart, she might have imagined herself dead again. Blood pounded in her temples though she couldn't imagine what was causing so much anxiety in such a peaceful place as this. A jumble of voices scrambled in the distance and Sarah felt herself drawn toward it, not mentally drawn, not ready to eavesdrop on the commotion, but physically pulled toward a spot where the voices seemed to separate and clear.

"Miss Williams, I'm very sorry." Sarah knew that voice. She couldn't put a face to it, but she had never in her life since heard a voice like that. It sounded so sweet, so friendly and then sorrowful and cold, mechanical. "It's never easy to break this kind of news to a family." Chills ran up her back like cold steel, making her grow rigid. That faceless voice, the one that told her she no longer had a father. It was coming now, again. In a moment, the woman on the other end would tell her there had been a terrible accident, that her parents' plane, the layover they caught in Heathrow had gone down into the Atlantic. They had no evidence of pilot error, no reports of mechanical error, it was as if Neptune's hand had reached up from the depths of the ocean and seized the tiny craft as if it were a toy. "No survivors have been found of yet, but while I don't want to tell you to abandon hope…"

Hope, that thing the weak clung to when reality better showed us truth. Hope, what everyone seemed to encourage when all else was gone. Hope, for Sarah, it was unattainable, unrealistic and unnecessary. She was an adult. She didn't need parents. She wanted to shout into the line, "So my father's dead. Fine, what needs done now? Arrangements to be made? Check to be sent? What?"

Stopping her in her linear track of thought, the woman on the other end concluded her statement, "but there is the matter of their minor child."

Toby.

"I'm afraid there are no other relatives but you Miss Williams and we at the agency feel it is always best to contact any relatives before integrating a child into foster care."

Foster care!

"Will you be coming to collect the boy?"

Collect the boy?

"Yes," she said quickly, not really considering just what a commitment that was. "Where…" how do you ask this sort of thing, "Where…can I…collect him?" Turning her words around on her, Sarah took up a pen ready to scrawl down an address.

"Your parents' home ma'am. He's there with one of our foster mothers. We feel it's best to leave a child with as much familiarity as possible until his new parents are available."

"Thank you." The phone met the cradle with authority. Until his new parents are available, as if they're being manufactured somewhere and there's a three-day shipping wait or something. She dialed her parents' number. It was strange to hear a foreign voice answer. "Hello, are you with…" she only now realized she hadn't asked the agency name, "…are you looking after my brother, Toby?"

"Yes, ma'am. You must be Sarah. They said they would call you. Will you be taking your brother, then?"

As if there were some other more logical plan for him? "Of course," Sarah told her. I'll be on the first possible plane, but I may not get there until late tonight. I'm prepared to offer you twice your normal salary if you'll stay with him in his home overnight."

"I'm a volunteer Miss Williams and staying here with Toby until whatever such time you're able to arrive would be my complimentary privilege."

The dig was wasted on Sarah whose mind was already racing with things to do. There were calls to make, bags to pack, reservations to call in, a car to rent. So much to do, and through it all she wondered if she should call Timothy. He wasn't particularly close to her parents, but he'd always been in love with Toby. Treating him as the son Sarah never gave him, spending more time with him than Sarah did, neither uncommon for him.

"I do," Sarah told the invisible persons whose conversation she had replayed. "I do call him and he agrees to fly out with me. He wants to be there to help Toby. Bad news changes everything I suppose," she went on telling the clouds all about her past, a past they seemed already too familiar with. "His fiancé didn't bat an eye when he told her where he was headed, why he needed to go. Timothy wouldn't have dared so much as phone Sarah let alone fly off to New York with her otherwise. Once he'd moved on, he'd moved on." She'd wager she never even crossed her mind these days.

"He picked me up at my place, drove us to O'Hare. I stared out the window the whole time. He tried to talk to me, but I barely did more than nod or grunt. We got on this plane, it was a smaller plane than I had ever flown in before, but it was the earliest flight we could get. It left at 8:30. I hated flying at night, but what choice did I have. I remember he hoisted my luggage into the overhead and took the window seat knowing how much I hated it. There were maybe another dozen people with us on that flight, so I left the seat between us empty and sat on the aisle."

Below her Sarah saw a plane. Her body pulled towards it, she felt herself fall through the plated exterior and into the soft leather seat inside. As she landed the plane shook. Timothy had his window pulled shut, a magazine open in his lap, but he didn't look disturbed any. Nervously her hands clasped over the buckle at her midsection. Turbulence. She hated turbulence. It seemed to be over though. The back of the seat in front of her had a Wall Street Journal in it, Sarah plucked it out. By the time she was done snapping it inside out and folding it in half to read the stock breakdown the plane was shaking again. Only this time it kept shaking.

How would this be? Her brother's parents and only living relative both killed in plane crashes on the same day. What a story that would be to tell? Next thing she knew she'd forgotten how to breathe. Dropping the paper, she clutched the arms of her seat and bent forward making the most awful wheezing sound. Timothy saw her, white knuckled, gasping and quietly folded his magazine, undid his seatbelt and moved over into the middle seat. Peeling back Sarah's fingers, he held her small cold hand against his chest. Confusion ruled her pleading eyes.

"Shhhh," he told her. Leaning over, his deep voice whispered smoothly in her ear, "Just relax. Breathe with me. It's just a little turbulence Sarah. This is not your parents plane. You're safe." For a second it made things worse. Having him so close, knowing that he knew her so well, his voice soothing her like tea over a swollen throat, she found it harder to breathe. "Feel my chest," oh she felt it alright. "Feel it rise and fall. Nice and steady, breathe in, breathe out. That's it." She was breathing with him by then, obeying his instructions like a small child.

Something about him seemed more electric, more appealing than when he had been hers. Her hand on his chest seemed illicit, particularly the finger that couldn't reach the other side of his unbuttoned shirt and so fell against his bare skin. The way he sounded, the way he smelled, it was all so different. When her brain had been fully replenished the oxygen she'd deprived it, Sarah turned her head to look at him, this man she once pledged to love until death.

In the seat, his head back, holding her hand to his chest, his eyes closed. Sarah wanted to kiss him, wanted to hold him close to her with nothing between them. She wanted to feel alive and in that moment she saw him not as the man she once knew, but as energy, a rough commanding energy that wanted to take charge of her and in fact had. This was part of what she had always wanted from him when they were together. Death was all around her. Externally in that her father was gone. Karen was gone. Stuck in her head that she would be next. She wanted to feel alive and Timothy was the most alive she'd felt in months.

When he became aware of her stare, Sarah did nothing to hide the blush on her cheeks. She let want stain her face like cheap rouge. Her eyes roamed his body, his most private places. Timothy shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. Composing herself Sarah sat back in her chair, attempting to pull back the hand he held. Though her ex-husband relaxed his grip, he did not relinquish her hand, but rather kept it loosely folded over her own on the arm rest they shared. Neither slept the rest of the trip, even though they both pretended to.

"Don't make me go through this again, pleaseཀ" a dreaming Sarah shouted into space as the plane melted away and she seemed to fall from the clouds to the ground below. Specifically the passenger seat of 1998 Ford F-250, riding west on Peter J. Delasandro Boulevard toward her childhood home just outside of Albany, New York.

Behind the wheel a concerned Timothy inquired, "You feeling OK?"

"Fine," Sarah replied beginning to feel a little embarrassed by her behavior in the air.

"You sure? You were practically green on the plane."

He was being kind, Sarah knew that. She may have gone white, may have taken on a green hue for a moment, but she felt the burn of scarlet flood her face after that and she knew it stayed around rather prominently until well after they landed. "I guess I'm just keyed up a little. Toby and all." Staring out the window she did something most unlike herself. "Tim," she began, "I don't know that I really told you how much I appreciate you coming up here with me. I know I try to act like nothing bothers me, but the truth of it is, I'm going to miss my dad. I'm not even going to get to say goodbye." Tiny tears snuck out between her tightly closed eyes.

There was no traffic on the roads by the time they'd gotten to New York, not the rural part anyway. Tim pulled the truck to a slow stop in front of her old house. "Sarah, I don't think you're ready to do this. Besides, what are you going to do? Pull the boy out of his bed when he's probably only just fallen asleep and take him back to Chicago."

Valid point. "No, I suppose that's not the best way to get off to a good start." That house loomed before her, the airy white house she'd so loved as a child. The place where she learned to dream and learned to love, and felt safe, for the most part, but it seemed ever more threatening now. Just the opposite of what she expected. It was a grand house indeed only she thought all these years later it would seem smaller, more like a doll house. Instead it seemed larger, large enough to be lost inside and no safer than a house of cards.

"You're right," she conceded. "I'll spring for a hotel."

"I don't think Toby's the only one in need of something familiar," he observed as he wiped away the tears on her cheeks with a handkerchief from his pant's pocket. "Why not drive up to the farm house?"

"And disturb everyone up there?"

"Not if we use the guest house." He pulled out away from the curb and started back for the main highway. "It's only an hour's drive. We'll get some rest and in the morning, we'll come back for Toby." Sarah nodded. She hated staying in hotels anyway, the thought of sleeping where someone else had done God knows what didn't much appeal to her hygienic side. Staring out the window, she let him take control again.

Desperate to end the uncomfortable silence, Sarah thought she'd take some corrective measures in case Timothy had gotten the wrong idea about what happened on the plane. Chivalry was something he prided himself on but the more she thought about going to the guest house with him the more she worried he had misconstrued her conduct. "How's Mindy?" she asked.

"Melissa," he corrected, "and she's fine."

"Good." Sarah paused, "Have you two set a date yet?"

Sarah hadn't shown any interest in his new relationship other than to comment that she found it 'remarkable he was able to find love again so quickly,' after Sarah found out about Melissa. She was right. It hadn't been more than two months since their divorce and he wasn't saying that there was a little bit of a rebound factor involved in his decision, but more so, he wanted a family and he wanted to start one right away. So maybe he had settled a little, maybe he didn't find a girl that was everything he wanted, but she was a good woman nonetheless, and she seemed to love him very deeply. "Not yet," he admitted. "We're waiting for her sister to get back from the foreign exchange program she's on in Australia."

There was the knife twisting in her side. Not only had he found another woman, but a younger one. Five years younger than Sarah anyway. Young enough to have a sister only graduating High School this year. She'd be able to give him a child, Sarah was certain of it. "Weddings can be tricky I suppose," she said for lack of a more intellectual response. "I hope you don't mind if I just close my eyes. I'm more tired than I guess I knew."

"No Sarah, you go ahead and sleep. I'll wake you when we get there."

Once she closed her eyes she really did nod off. Freedom came with putting off the inevitable for one more day and she was relishing in it. Reclined in the seat, her legs pulled up to her and her hands tucked angelically beneath her head, he slept deeply and restfully.

Dreams being what they are, we sometimes will things to happen a little differently than they actually do or did, and later when she discussed this event with Laney she'd say she imagined this is how things happened while she was asleep, but what she dreamt was no subconscious fabrication, it was the truth of the matter. What she saw in her mind's eye were the exact events that transpired on that day in her past.

With fifteen miles left in their trip, Sarah began to snore. Timothy pulled back a few strands of her hair that had stuck to her mouth.. The way she looked on the plane had done nothing to help him forget how much he loved her. If anything it had only fanned the fire. Against his better judgment he allowed his hand to trail down her arm, over her thigh and rest on her knee which fit neatly in the palm of his hand. If she awoke, he'd make up some nonsense about her legs being in the way of the consol where he'd wanted to rest his arm.

As it was, she slept the entire way to the farm. The moon shone brightly on the dirt roads of the exposed trails and Timothy switched to parking lights once they'd gotten onto the property. He unlocked the door with the key which Sarah had never asked him to return and took their luggage inside. The smell of the log cabin was something he'd always loved. A few deep breaths and then he'd throw the light switch. One switch illuminated half of the bottom floor, the kitchen and the living room. The next switch set off the bug light on the porch, a beautiful muted amber glow that wouldn't draw too much attention.

Opening the passenger door of the truck he called to his ex-wife. "Sarah we're here. Sarah?" She didn't move. He wondered when the last time was she had slept so soundly. Gentle hands turned her face to his and straightened her legs. "Sar…" Timothy ran his eyes up the length of her, choking on his words as he fell on her face. She always was beautiful when she was sleeping. Clasping his hands softly around her neck he supported the back of her head, "Oh Sarah," he sighed. His mouth covered hers before he had time to think any better of doing so. Kissing her seemed so natural, they had been married after all, but he never expected her to return the kiss. Even in her sleep she reacted to his touch. He broke the kiss then, and when bleary eyes looked at him momentarily before closing, he opted to hoist her into his arms and cart her inside.

She felt warm to him, near feverish as her head nestled into his neck. Lighter than he remembered, probably lost weight without him around to cook his huge meals. Unable to resist pressing his cheek to hers he held her a little longer than he needed to. Once he finally set her down on the bed, he loosened her shoes from her feet and opened the foot locker to grab a cover for her. The fabric draped over her accentuating her form right up to her chin. Like a father tucking in his daughter, Timothy bent to press his lips against her forehead, but that was where the analogy ceased.

Lingering too long anywhere can land you in hot water if you're not careful, and Timothy wasn't being careful by a long shot. Hovering above her caused Sarah to become very aware of his presence. Fluttering eyes let him know his cover had been blown. He tried to back away, fear made him move slowly. Before he could get out of her reach, Sarah's hand lifted up and filled with a patch of his wavy silk hair. Looking down at her, Timothy made no attempt to conceal his admiration. In return Sarah looked up at him with all the same affections she had displayed on the plane.

Secluded in the back of the house away from the harsher white light of the living space, his one time wife lie in the shadows, her porcelain face silhouetted only by the moonlight which managed to find its way in through the windows. For that moment he'd forgotten what it was that convinced him to leave her. What happened next between them was as natural as it was wicked.

Even a scrutinizing eye couldn't determine who had kissed whom, but their lips met in pure explosion of unresolved passion. Sarah's hands roamed his back while he took up huge fistfuls of her hair. His busy lips attempted to profess the dishonesty of what his body was asking him to do, but not a word was spoken as he ripped away the quilt he'd laid so lovingly over her earlier. Kicking off his shoes, Timothy eased over her and into the bed. Knotting up the tails of his shirt, Sarah lifted the garment over his head, compensating for his angling by raising herself to his mouth, leaving her back wide open to accept his enfolding arms.

The full length of his forearm cradled her back, her head in his hand as his lips left her mouth to explore the sides of her neck and the hollow of her throat. Even in the harried rush to board that plane for New York, she was impeccable, hair neatly coiffed, a sharp business casual outfit and a luscious scent that made him want his mouth all over. He craved the specific scents and flavors of her from head to toe. In all their years, dating and married, he had never wanted her as much as he did right now. Laying her back, he skillfully undid her blouse one button at a time. Seeking her approval their eyes met, but there were no objections, if Sarah had a complaint at all, it was that he hadn't yet managed to get her fully free of her stiff office wear and consummate the passion they were both swept away by.

The body beneath her clothes was so familiar and yet Tim wanted to explore it as if he had never seen it before. While he undid her bra with the nimble fingers of his right hand, his left hand began a slow but steady trail down the length of her. The heated plane of her cheek, the dip of her throat, the rise of her chest, the valley to her stomach. Sarah let out a small moan when his mouth fell to the valley between her breasts. In the past, Timothy had been a satisfying lover, but his pursuits of her had always been neat, gentlemanly. The manner in which he undid the hook closures on the waistband of her trousers, distracting her with his warm roaming mouth, he lowered her zipper, devilishly slipping his hand between the designer cotton twill and an intricate lace, all proved his techniques had become more raw.

In her still omnipresent view, Sarah felt heated having watched their lovemaking as would a third party through a parted curtain. She spent such a long time trying to forget that night, trying to forget so much about that trip to New York. Just as she'd begun to wish this dream would end here, her surroundings started changing again. "No," Sarah called out. Some piece of her wanted to stay here wanted to be here when the people in that bed woke up so she could convince herself not to say the terrible things she had said to Timothy the first time. It wouldn't send him running home, back to the arms of a waiting fiancé who would welcome him with love and ignorance to what had happened between them.

That's not what Timothy wanted. He wanted to hear her say this night had changed her, changed them in a profound way. That there was hope, that they could overcome their differences, find a way to be happy despite the odds. But neither destiny was to be truth. Though the night they shared here in the guest house, was unlike any they had shared as a couple, though it was filled with passion and magic, though he had touched her like he never had, her heart remained unmoved. Her love for him had grown no deeper, no more true.

He would return home his honesty too strong to fight his sense. Melissa would hear, in perhaps more detail than she cared for just what transpired the night he went to New York under the guise of rescuing a scared little boy who he had come to love as if he were his own sibling, his own blood. Without hesitation or consideration of forgiveness, she would leave, stopping only once when he tried to take her to his arms and beg her to stay. Such a dainty hand was far too capable of delivering a striking blow to his cheek. Timothy hung his head in shame. He had confessed. He had expected forgiveness, but he had been given his just desserts instead.

Closing her eyes, a tear fell from Sarah's chin, everything around her felt swimmy. If she hadn't already been unconscious she would have been more fearful that she was about to pass out. When again her eyes sprung open, she was inside a house now. An open foyer, column separating the foyer from the living room, yellow walls, white trim. A woman on in years eyed her up and down and at her side a frightened teenage Toby.

Moving to embrace her brother, Sarah felt foolish when he moved back. "I've come to take you home," she told him.

Smartly he replied, 'I am home."

"My home," her hands braced against her thighs as she met him eye to eye. "You're going to come live with me now."

Toby's reaction was one of horror. Worse than him not understanding what had happened to his parents, it was the fear of leaving all he had ever known with someone he barely remembered to start again all alone. Timothy stepped up to his side. "Don't talk to him like he's a baby," he chastised Sarah. "Look here Toby, it's just until your parents can be found."

"Now who's treating him like a baby," Sarah mumbled.

Timothy snapped at her, "Excuse me?"

"His parents are dead, why try to pretend they're coming back?"

The volunteer felt unable to withhold her two cents, "There is hope that his parents will be found."

Rather than shouting Sarah bit her tongue. The awkward silence in the room grew exponentially by the second. It was Timothy who brought it to an end. "You'll stay with your sister and on weekends, well I'll stop by. We'll have football in the park, like we did when.." it occurred to him to say 'when I was your brother' thinking it might have given the boy some comfort, some place, but the events that transpired that morning kept him from being overly sentimental, "...when we'd meet here in the summers for holiday."

A thin smile curled the boy's lips. Mistakenly Sarah thought he'd been won over to the idea with such a small promise. "And when you're not off _playing_," her sarcasm directed more at the man than the boy, "I'll be taking care of you."

"Taking care of me," Toby stared at his shoes as if he was thinking over some concept from a grad school syllabi. When he finally dared to face her, there was no little boy left in his eyes, he'd grown cold, mature able to toss verbal darts with experience beyond his years. "You can barely take care of yourself! You've hated me your entire life, wished I was never born."

"I'm older now Tobe," she tried to sound caring, "I've grown up and now I'm going to be your mother." Her heart knew her father was dead and being a strong man, or so he had seemed in her childhood, being the sort of man who lived alone and managed both himself and a daughter, if he couldn't survive, Karen was going to either, but she offered a petty reassurance anyway. "At least until your mother can be found."

"Mother?" Toby asked. "You're nobody's mother."

Those words would echo in her head the rest of her life and the bite that came with them would be just as sharp every time. "You're nobody's mother...nobody's mother," the echo sounded in her head like a gong. In fact it was enough to wake her from her alcohol induced slumber. Even conscious, she heard the repeating phrase fading slowly and being replaced by the throbbing of a powerful hangover.

Pulling a throw around her, Sarah tried to ward off the chill from the open French doors. "Damn it Jareth, I knew you were too chicken to show."

* * *

After a night like she'd had, there was only one logical, practically thing a woman could do. Call her therapist. "So you see. My brother and his wife are expecting a baby. She's having a very difficult pregnancy and I'm their only family, so I need you to fax something to my office. By law I'm entitled to six months under FMLA, if you know any doctor tricks that can get me more time, then now would be a good time to pull them out of your hat."

"I'll get you at least six months Sarah," he promised. "I have to say, I think this baby is going to be really good for you. I'm glad to see you're getting involved. I think you'll be amazed at how much healing this will offer you." Thank God he couldn't see her mocking him on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, doc, I"m pretty amazed as it is." She hung up the phone. One white lie, not a bad price to pay to spend another six months where no one could find her, no one could disturb her. Returning to her not so distant past had helped her outrun her youth, but it was waiting for her back in Chicago. Those SAT prep courses were going to come in handy now as she tried to make sense of where she had to go next to escape it all.

No better place to think than cradled between blue water and a blue sky. She called for Brock to hitch the boat to the Jeep. He was glad to see her, even if she looked heavily troubled. Cole had come back sure she had died. "You sure you're up for boating?"

"I am in desperate need of boating," she told him with a smile she hoped would reassure him. It didn't, but hoping it would spill over to her, he took on a sense of assurance that was far better played than her smile.

A final twist of the wrench and he patted the fiberglass bow, "Then boating you shall go." Crawling up into the captain's chair, Sarah couldn't help but look into the passenger seat half expecting to see Tim's ghost beside her. That wouldn't do. He was what she was trying to leave behind.

Exit 25 off I-87 would take her west to Loon Lake. It was the least populated, the most secluded, somewhere she could find the solitude that the crowded guest house didn't offer. Even as she backed the trailer into the boat launch, she felt the nightmare start to melt away. If this worked, she'd sell her place in Chicago, buy a houseboat, maybe sail around the world. Why not?

The lake welcomed her as she negotiated the craft out to where she could fool herself into believing land no longer existed. A beach chair on the deck gave her the perfect spot for reading and she thought nothing of it when more than 200 pages had fallen in her wake. Yet, were someone to ask the topic of the tale, she'd have stumbled dumbly creating a response based more in fiction than the book itself.

Dusk was coming up in the distance darkening the aqua color above and below. Tiny gold kissed peaks of cloud tried to hold on to the fleeting sun. Best she head back to shore if she intended to stay in the water this late. The southeast leg of Lake Loon was narrow. She headed there, not worried about how she'd get back to the launch when the time came. That was further in the future than she could be bothered to think.

On either side the forest rose black into the sky. Before her the lake seemed as if it could go on forever even though she knew there were only a limited number of miles down which she could drift. Alone on a boat the black night falling all around. Sarah imagined she should have wanted someone with her. Someone to hold her close and act as lover, or to fill the empty deck chair and be her friend. But she was quite content to be alone.

Timothy wasn't much of a sailor, in fact, he rather feared the water which Sarah found ironic, him being raised on an island after all. His loss. "I wish Timothy were here," she lied into the void around her. Nothing. "I wish Jareth were here," she half fibbed. Still nothing. "I wish Laney were here," she admitted. Nothing. As she thought.

It might be nice to have her good friend with her, the more she thought about it. This being locked up business was getting pretty lonely, even for someone with Sarah's inborn ability to be alone. Flipping open her phone, she thought she might try and give Laney a call. No reception. No surprise. However, she couldn't help but notice the time. Just after midnight. She was beginning to regret not only heading away from the launch, but even more she was beginning to regret that bottle of wine she'd brought along to accompany her reading.

Indian style on the deck she sat. The land and water were no longer distinguishable. Not since she had been trapped in the oubliette had she seen shadows this dark. "Huh?" she wondered aloud. "Too bad I don't know Hoggle's number." The breeze seemed to laugh at her. For a moment she laughed back, humored by her own foolishness. In her best Mae West she beseeched her once mythical friend. "Oh Hoggle, I need you."

Mild breeze grew oddly strong and a heavy splash called Sarah's attention to the starboard side of the boat. Something just below the surface of the water flailed. Must be some fish. "Don't just stand there." She heard between gurgles. "I can't swim."

A voice, a tiny voice stuck in the black water. A child? Sarah searched for something to throw overboard. At last she found the preserver she knew could save the drowning life below. "I'm tossing you a line," she called up.

"Stop talkin' about it and do it," the answer came. The preserver hit the water with a splash. After a few seconds of incoherent grumbling, she heard the tiny voice demanding to be pulled up. "Ya can't just leave me here. Ya made me come here, now pull me up so I can find out what you want."

"What?" she called down. "What do you mean I made you come here?"

"Pull me up Sarah, pull me up right now or by the power of the fairies I'll never come when you call again."

Sarah began yanking the rope hand over hand while she attempted to convince herself that the voice mumbling below wasn't as familiar as she now had to admit it was. When she first caught glimpse of the leather skull cap and the pudgy fingers of a dwarf clutch the rail around the boat deck. "Hoggle?" she asked hesitantly.

Swinging his stout little legs over the side he stood to face her dripping wet on the deck. "Well it ain't Tinkerbell." His widespread arms crossed over his chest and he huffed. "So what do ya want?"

"I...I..."

He mocked her, "You...you..."

"Oh Jesus!"

"Come on, are you really so surprised." His tone softened with her as he recalled their adventures from Sarah's childhood. "Arak," he pronounced when he noticed her staring into space rather than paying him any attention.

"You want a rum drink?"

"Aha!" he called out victoriously as his human friend, his first friend turned to look down at him. "Ya do remember me."

Emotion flooded her as strongly as if the entire lake were suddenly aboard. She sank clumsily to her knees. A shaky hand extended touching him to be certain he was real. "Oh Hoggle," she cried pulling him into her embrace, "I could never forget you." Tears blended with the water already absorbed in his clothes as the waters ravaging her heart sought escape through her eyes.

* * *

A master navigator, Hoggle easily guided Sarah back to the launch. In return she took him back to the guest house and built him a blazing fire to dry by. Over tea they talked about life above and underground. "How do I get him to stop tormenting me?" she asked after explaining what had been going on lately.

"It ain't Jareth," Hoggle said definitively cupping his mug with both hands and sipping deeply from it's belly. "Jareth can't contact you, not unless you were to wish a baby of your own blood to him."

"But he's been in my dreams?"

"Weren't him that done that either. Jareth's powers over you were broken the minute you said those words. You cast a spell Sarah, one that keeps him from doing little more than casting glamors that might cause you to draw comparisons to ordinary things in your world and what you remember from the Underground. That's all he's capable of now. And believe me he ain't happy 'bout it at all."

The information he provided made her consider her own desires. Had she been the one to bring him to her? If so, why? "Things are different there aren't they?"

"You know the castle fell."

"I mean more than that Hoggle. I mean the entire world, not just the castle. It's darker, colder."

"Aye," he agreed. "Jareth's heart has turned black and his kingdom has followed. He's taken up with Arven, an overthrown king from a neighboring kingdom, together they have woven a trap of death and disaster for anyone who dare accept the king's generosity."

"I'm very sorry."

"You?"

"Me," she hung her head in regret, "If only I hadn't done what I did so many years ago."

Hoggle hurried to her side and put a short arm over her shoulder, "If you wouldn'ta done what ya did, it woulda been horrible in a whole new way." His lips pressed against the side of her head in an attempt to comfort her. "Time passes fast in your world. Ya needs yer rest."

As he prepared to leave, Sarah asked him desperately, "Can I call you again?"

"Ya can. Ya always could." He smiled as he waved goodbye and vanished right before her eyes. For a moment she just let the tears run from her eyes. She blamed the wine. She convinced herself she was crazy. Any number of illusions and each time she failed to debunk the myth. Hoggle had been here. He had come to her, guided her home as he once did through the turns of Jareth's maze and proved her sane without even knowing it.

* * *

The next few weeks passed quickly with a new friend in tow to pass the time. She taught him to play Gin Rummy and he elaborated great fabrications to make the Underground sound less horrific than it had truly become. "How's the boy?" Hoggle finally asked.

"The boy, oh Toby? He's fine. Just got married. He and his wife came back home expecting."

"Spectin' what?"

"A baby," she laughed. "They're going to have a baby."

Hoggle's face grew filled with fear and his stare distant. "Sarah, Toby don't remember us does he?"

"He thinks you were all a fairytale I made up to scare him." Setting down her hand, she grew concerned with her opponent's terror. "Hoggle are you alright?"

"You'll protect that baby, won't ya? Keep him safe."

"Him?"

"It'll be a boy."

"How do you know?"

"No time. I juss know things I guess. He's going to need you Sarah. Him and Toby both. Promise me you'll protect him.

"No time," he repeated desperately. "Juss promise."

"I promise, Hoggle." Frightened now she demanded, "Tell me what's going on!"

"I can't Sarah. I...I...I gotta go. Others need you more than you needs me." As always, he was gone before she could stop him.

In the same instant that he disappeared, her phone rang. "Sarah," she heard a tearful voice warble. "Oh Sarah."

"Toby? Is that you?"

"Yeah sis. I'm sorry to disturb your vacation, but, I didn't know who else to call."

"Calm down. Tell me what's wrong. Are you alright?"

"Rowan," he sobbed as if the one word said it all.

"Rowan?"

"She's gone into labor Sar and she's only at 28 weeks. The doctors say there's a good chance the baby will survive, but it's risky. They're trying to stop labor, but they're not having much luck." Silence. "I can't lose my baby Sarah, please. Don't let me lose my baby."

"I'm on my way home Toby," she told him anxiously. "I want you to stay calm, stay strong for your wife and your baby and I'll be home before you know." Hoggle's words echoed in her head, "Nothing's going to happen to your son. I promise."


End file.
